Sectioned
by Centalope
Summary: Frank is back, and he wants Jim. Rated T for swearing and mentions of rape/torture.
1. Chapter 1

Jim's eyes threatened to flutter shut, his gaze drifting from the window to nothingness.

He had been staring out said window for the past hour, the sound of silence was comforting before he had to leave the house and go back to duty on the Enterprise.

Bones and Spock had gone down for shore leave with him at the beginning of the week, he was the last one up.

Secretly, he wished leave would last at least another day or so, he was still exhausted.

 _2100 hours_ , the PADD had told him, or alerted him three times. He was supposed to leave at 2030 hours.

Oh well.

He allowed himself one final glance out the window and into the night sky, before forcing his legs up to a standing position. He'd better leave before his crew started sending landing party's down to find him, no doubt they'd think he'd gotten himself into some unsolvable mess again.

 _Thee have little faith_ , he chuckled to himself.

Grabbing his suitcase which was definitely _not_ containing any alcohol whatsoever, he dragged himself over to the door and glared at it expectingly, willing for it to open on its own. Seeing as it was an automatic sliding door; it did.

Darkness encompassed him as the door swooshed open, he didn't see the silhouette of a figure standing outside, subsequently walking into it with a quiet yelp.

"Jesus Christ!" he marvelled, stepping back suddenly, "It's the middle of the night, man! The hell'd you want?" he narrowed his eyebrows, trying to get a closer look at the intruder.

The figure moved closer into him, forcing Jim to begin stepping backwards, shuffling back the direction he came with each step, until finally the door recognised his presence and swooshed open again.

"Listen man, I'm just leaving, so if you're here to steal some shit, whatever, y'know?" Jim's heel collided with the concrete step behind him, causing him to move himself up onto the stairs and backing into the house.

It was fine, he was not come back for another year anyway. Plus, he could get the man arrested or something.

He threw the suitcase into the hallway and practically stumbled backwards into another room.

The silent figure moved closer, and Jim felt his fight or flight responses kick in.

 _Click!_

Light burst out everywhere, throwing Jim's eyes into overload.

He drew in a sharp breath, grunting and raising an arm to his eyes, squinting carefully, his vision still blurry from readjusting.

As soon as he focused on the person before him, his eyes grew wide, and he held his hands out defensively.

 _Shit._

"I almost missed you again, didn't I? That's okay, you can stay now."

Now Jim understood why this man didn't speak beforehand. His voice would give him away, and Jim would have ran for it.

 _Frank._

* * *

Frank lay a steady hand on the door panel, his fingers discovering the correct button, that upon being pushed, set the door shut and locked it.

He turned his gaze to Jim and scoffed at the apprehension breaking through his confident mask.

"Pfft," he scoffed, taking a wide step towards Jim, causing the blonde to repeat the action backwards, "Didn't I teach you not to open doors to strangers?"

Jim visibly tugged his shirt down by habit, attempting to look smart somehow without a uniform on; just sporting a simple grey shirt.

"I was just leaving." Jim spat, his fingers running down the side of his trousers as if looking for something.

"You ain't leaving, Jimmy. I came all the way over here to find ya, and let me tell you, it ain't easy."

Kirk's hands stopped searching and fell to their sides, "I've gotta go, I have-" he tried to come up with the closest reasonable time, "-I have five minutes until I have to go."

Frank smiled. "Uh huh. Well, why don'tcha take a seat right here," he gestured to a sofa, the one Jim had just been laying on to watch the sky with.

Jim didn't want to be anywhere near Frank, let alone sit on a sofa with him. Ever since he was dragged back into the household from the ordeal with Tarsus, Frank, in his own words, ' _Didn't know what he had been missing.'_

Cautiously, Jim made his way to the grey rugged sofa, knowing it would not do to disobey anything that Frank asks. He scooted to the end of the cushions, dismayed when Frank followed suit and right next to him, despite all the space left.

"Listen, Frank, it's nice to see you and all," Jim lied nervously, "But if I don't show up to my duties soon then my crew are gonna start sending down landing parties to find me. And you don't want to be here for that."

Frank's face twisted into a deep frown before loosening into a smile again. "That's okay Jimmy, we still got a lotta time, you and me," he whispered harshly in his ear, a hand gripping tightly—too tightly, onto his shoulder.  
Jim was now six minutes overdue for a beam-up. Any second now they'd try to comm him, and when the attempt would fail, they would come looking for him.

In the meantime, Jim forced himself to think about something else; the Enterprise. Perhaps he could sneak in a hamburger for dinner and not get dietary threats from his CMO.

Maybe an away mission gone right for once- a new astonishing planet for his tired crewmembers to gape over, that would agree to join the Federation. No quarrels, no debates, just pure and simple-

"Why don'tcha lie down, Jimmy?" Frank's voice dragged Jim back to his current nightmare.

"Not enough room," he muttered, unable to stop himself from fidgeting with his shirt collar.

"Sure there is, here let me scoot back here-oh, are you getting hot?"

 _Don't you fucking dare._

"So am I. I'd take my shirt off but, haha," Frank laughed at himself, gesturing to his own figure, "Not exactly the shape. You, however..."

 _Ah, crap._

"Here, let me help you, Jimmy," rough hands invaded Jim's personal space, pulling and tugging at his shirt, "Been a while since I've seen that nice...physique of yours."

Jim's heart thudded in his chest, his hands sweating but cold,  
"I need to go, Frank." he tried helplessly, shuffling away from the man while somewhat managing to keep his shirt on.

" _No_ ," Frank licked his lips, sounding like a parent telling their child the difference between good from bad, "You're staying here now. I'm gonna live here with you, you get that Jimmy? We can be a family again," Frank snarled.

Living with Frank would be like reliving his abusive childhood.  
In a fit of rage, Jim slapped the man's hand away from him, kicking violently, "I don't even want to breathe the same _air_ you, you son of a **bitch**!"

Frank whacked a fist at him across the stomach, instantly bringing Jim's hand to his belly in pain, "Who the fuck do you think you are?" the older man spat, grabbing his shoulder and attempting to turn him over.

Jim recognised this move instantly, and like hell was he going to allow it to happen again; he was ten times the strength he had as a child.

"Fuck off me you sick bastard!"

"Not when I've got you right where I want you, you little brat," Frank slammed a heavy knee onto Jim's side, eliciting a silent gasp in pain from him, mouth agape, before manoeuvring him onto his stomach.

"Don't you dare move a muscle, not 'til I'm done."

Jim squeezed his eyes shut and blew out a heavy breath, trying to keep himself calm.

 _If someone could come find me any minute now, that'd be great._

"You wanna know what I have here, Jimmy?" Frank boasted, accompanied by some clicking noises.

 _Not particularly._

"I got myself my very own hypospray. I mean, it's yours really,"

Jim silently exhaled a sigh of relief. For a moment he was beginning to think Frank had something much worse in store for him.

"Talk to me then! Aren't you excited? I spent a lot of money on this you know!" Frank roared, digging an elbow in deeper to Jim's back.

Money hardly existed in this century, if at all. Frank got ripped off unless it was something absolutely amazing.

"What you smirking at, huh?" Frank urged, not noticing Jim's hand was sliding down his trousers, trying to find a pocket.

Jim tried to wipe the smile off his face, but it just grew bigger. He recognised the shape of the communicator, rectangular and small.

"I'll show you, you little-" the end of the sentence was missing, for something was jammed so hard into his spine, that his hearing was overtaken with the sensation of searing white hot pain. As another jab landed in the middle of two vertebrae, Jim opened his mouth and shrieked his lungs dry, willing himself to pass out.

Where were his crew?

"Yeah, keep screaming, Jimmy," a hand roughly grabbed at the hair on Jim's head, yanking his head down into the pillow of the sofa, slowly suffocating him. Ten seconds passed before the fingers wrenched Jim's head back to sharply inhale some oxygen before slamming it back onto the surface again.

Two ruthless hands latched onto his trousers, fingers attempting to yank them back before being loosened again by the wrathing Captain.

Jim desperately patted around his pockets for the communicator, trying to take it out and call for help, but struggled to even draw in breaths.

After six rising and slamming of Jim's head, a now lethargic blonde was hauled onto his back, now finally facing Frank, his face looming over him, a sadistic smile covering his expression.

With ease, the older man tugged the rest of the shirt off over Jim's head, scowling when the Captain coughed weakly from oxygen starvation, his mouth slightly hanging agape, a dazed look on his face.

"See, I told you we could stay together," Frank dug his knee into Jim's thigh, pressing a hand to his neck, "And now I'm gonna make it just that little bit easier," Frank retorted, holding up another hypo-looking device.

"A nice hefty dose of this every few hours should eventually change your brain chemistry," Frank explained proudly, "Oh, don't look so afraid, Jimmy! It's for the greater good. Now you see I got this friend who's into the drug business, and..." Jim became detached from Frank's blabbering about where he acquired the hypo and focused more on the fact it was hovering directly over his gut. He couldn't gather the strength needed to string a single sentence in reply, let alone a snarky one.

"...You'll lose your sense of self, your security, and that's left wide open for me to reshape, to protect you, Jimmy,"

Jim tuned back into the speech, but not before managing to fumble the communicator into his hands. "It'll be like having you as a kid again, Jimmy. You won't wanna leave, you'll want to live here with me. I'm so lonely, you know?"

With practiced muscle-memory, he imagined where the alert button would be and pressed the first button along, his fingers delicately glazing over the buttons.

Suddenly a fist collided with his face, leaving a burning red mark on his face, "Are you even listening, you little brat?"

Jim wanted to make a sound of acknowledgement but it came out more like a groan.

"Repeat back to me everything that's going to happen to you, otherwise..." Frank cranked his fists tightly over the hypo and held his arm back, ready to stab it into Jim's gut with force.

He swallowed hard and stuttered, "U-uh..."

Frank used his other hand to grab Jim's face, squeezing his skin between his fingers, hissing viciously into Jim's ear "You weren't listening, were you?"

 ** _WHAM!_**

The hypo was rammed into his stomach, and Jim lurched forward, screaming, but no sound came out. The pain was so severe, it was if someone had ripped his stomach out. His vision faded white, and he swore he could hear Frank shouting, no doubt lecturing him about not listening. His entire spine made him want to stab himself; a constant burning pinpointed in the middle of his spine.

His fingers curled up into fists, he could practically feel the sweat trickling from his forehead down the side of his eyes. At the back of his mind, Jim could feel furious fingers shoving his trousers down and finally over his hips. Frank had won. But somehow the pain was blissfully distracting.

In fact the movement seemed to have stopped.

Upon opening his eyes, he thought the drug was working already and his mind were playing tricks on him. The ceiling above him was no longer scratchy and grey, but smooth and prestige white, there were loud noises penetrating his ears but couldn't figure out what they are.

At this point, he tried to distract himself from his sobbing by cataloguing what else was hurting. His body was so damn tense that it was shaking, vibrating against the floor- and if he would relax, the pain would be ten times worse.

"Captain?" he heard a distant voice mutter, as if it came from the other side of the Sahara desert.

Frank had never called him by his new rank before; he internally berated himself for getting his hopes up.

"Captain?" the voice repeated, this time sounding a little closer. He was very aware of the cold metallic ground up against his semi-naked body, the hairs on his skin standing on end as a shiver wracked his spine; he let out a quiet groan from the movement.

The fuzzy white ceiling was replaced with a fuzzy blue blur, a face appearing above him and obscuring his vision. He focused intensely on it, trying to figure out who it was. Suddenly this figure was rolling him onto his side, attempting to pull at the trousers that were left around his ankles.

Frank was still here.

Immedietly, Kirk started kicking, attempting to push past the fuzzy numbness he was feeling from the drugs, desperate to get away from Frank. A hand practically shoved Jim into such a confined position on his side that he couldn't move, his arms pinned to the ground. While doing so, the trousers were pulled back up to his waist again. He couldn't even remember Frank successfully getting them past his waist.

"Did that mean...?"

He let out a mighty kick.

"Get Doctor McCoy."

The second those horrific three words left that guy's mouth, Jim shot upright and almost screeched with the agony in the centre of his spine.

His vision focused, and he could see he was exactly where he was begging the world to be.

Back on the Enterprise. He was in the transporter room.

"Don't get McCoy," Jim spoke, his voice hoarse and sore from screaming only minutes before.

Looking up, he saw Spock standing right next to him, rigid but his face accidentally leaking concern.  
He was definetly back on the ship, he managed to tell himself. Now to seem in control and hide that anything was wrong.

Jim, with huge effort, stumbled onto his feet, hiding the slight swaying he couldn't control.

"Captain, if you don't mind my saying, you do not look healthy at all," the Vulcan spoke quietly, strangely aware of Jim's predicament.

"I'm alright Spock, just had one too many drinks, y'know?" he forced a smile and patted his shoulder, making his way to the door to avoid anything further questioning of his arrival.

Of course, Spock followed right behind.

* * *

"Captain, where are you going?" Spock pushed him, as both men clamoured into the turbolift.

"Bridge." Jim ordered the turbolift, catching Spock raising his eyebrow at the corner of his eye.

"Captain-"

"I'm fine, Spock," Jim interrupted, holding onto the lift rails with a grip firmer than was normal for him.

"Captain, I must warn you that—"

"Just… shut up, Spock, that's an order."

Spock looked at him in disbelief before bowing his head in acknowledgement, "Very well, Captain."

Jim sighed and slumped his head over to face the floor, shutting his eyes momentarily. He was required to attend a physical after every shore leave—every crew member was. How the hell was he going to explain that Frank had tried to assault him?  
Who was Frank involved with that gave him access to all these drugs? He had tuned out from his speech earlier from the pain.

Pain that had magically disappeared since arriving in the transporter room.  
He looked up slowly, very, very slowly.

"Spock," he began carefully, facing the stoic Vulcan, who was already looking at him, "Did you mind-meld with me?"

The expression on Spock's face was one to behold. His eyes grew wide for a split second and his grip on the rails visually grew tenser, "Affirmative. You were screaming, Captain, I attempted to alleviate some of that pain, hence why I suggest that you visit Doctor Mc—"

"Thanks Spock," Jim interrupted again, "But I'm good. Just don't tell anyone about this or what you saw. Please. Not even Bones." He watched Spock for a few more seconds, waiting for any give away in his expression to say he was not going to stay quiet about this.

"I will not disclose this information if you order it, Captain." Kirk sighed at Spock's request. And it _was_ obviously a request. He wanted to tell someone, probably Bones, and needed an order to stop himself.

"Alright Spock," he breathed, "Make that an order." If Bones found out, no doubt he would be hauled into sickbay and be subject to a million unnecessary exams. Exams that he had never had to undergo before.

Because of Frank.

The turbolift doors finally opened after what felt like hours, unleashing the Captain and his first officer to the bridge. Only seconds after he stepped out did everyone within visual range turn around in their chairs and stare at Kirk. Not at Spock, but Kirk.

"Yeah, I'm on the bridge," he mumbled, striding towards his chair, "Return to your stations."

No-one except for an ensign turned back around, Jim scowled, "What's so interesting? Haven't you all seen me before?"

A hand on his shoulder almost made him jump, and would have done if Jim hadn't realised it belonged to Spock. The hand felt pretty cold for some reason.

"Captain," Spock muttered under his breath, "You may not be aware that you are not wearing a shirt."

 _What?_

Jim threw himself away from Spock and stared down at himself.  
It was true.  
He was not wearing a shirt.  
He'd walked onto the bridge, on duty, wearing nothing but trousers.

"S-Shit, Spock you take the bridge," he stammered, scrambling to get on top of all the platforms again. Everyone was going to be suspicious now; they're all going to be asking each other why the Captain of the Enterprise walked onto the bridge shirtless. It'll form into gossip, everyone on the ship will be talking about it. Then the friends of gossipers off-ship will learn about it, it would be a running joke, the admirals would laugh while decommissioning—

"Captain," this time Spock startled Jim out of his thoughts, "I must talk with you alone."  
 _Shit, here it comes._

"Sure Spock," Kirk announced confidently, "Just let me uh… get a shirt on," Spock followed him back into the turbolift, no doubt making for yet another awkward conversation.

* * *

Inside Kirk's quarters, Jim made a mad dash for the yellow command shirt, completely ignoring Spock, having managed to successfully not speak a word in the turbolift.

He seized at the material with shaky fingers, hoping the cloth would hide his obvious trembling, and tugged the shirt on over himself as fast as he could, resisting the urge to practically hug himself for needed comfort.

"Captain, I will have this conversation with you now."  
 _Shit.  
_ "When I performed the mind-meld approximately an hour ago, when you had just arrived from emergency transportation, I saw various images in the meld, all filled with strong emotion. I must question if—"

"He didn't, okay?!" Jim blurt out, not wanting to talk about it, "I don't want to talk about what happened, and don't you dare mention it to anyone else." Bones must not find out. _Bones must not find out.  
_ He made his way to the door again, deciding to continue giving Spock the cold shoulder considering how tired he was getting from the whole ordeal. He'd forget about it soon enough, and he'd never beam down to that house again. He'd get a new house where Frank wouldn't find him.

"On arrival, your trousers were down to your ankles and your shirt was removed." Spock tried. Jim ignored.

"Was he successful in disrobing you completely?"

 ** _"SPOCK!"_** Jim bellowed in pent up anger, "One more sound about this from you and I'll confine you to quarters!"

Spock gave him the _there is definitely no regulation for that_ look, offering a slight upturn of a lip corner, a lie to comfort Jim with the fact this would be ignored, before taking the lead out of the room back to the turbolift, and for the first time in the Vulcan's life, he was _not_ eager to return to the bridge.

* * *

"Our next mission is to survey the planet Jevuka II," Jim sat in his beloved Captain's chair, having now returned to the bridge and everything returning to normal, "Starfleet believes the planet could be ready for first contact, uh… they developed something similar to warp speed, apparently."

Jim closed his eyes momentarily, feeling a dull aching forming in his lower back and abdomen. He made a mental note to run in and out of sickbay for painkillers while Bones was off duty.

Come to think of it, Bones was a required landing party asset to find out about the species residing the planet. Crap. Spock better keep his mouth shut.

"We'll arrive in uh… when will we arrive Mr Sulu?" he let his head fall back into the chair, noticing how difficult it was beginning to get to breathe. It was like inhaling water.

"ETA thirty-six minutes, sir," the helmsmen replied, not taking his eyes off the station.  
Jim let out a grunt in reply, internally kicking himself for how weak he was sounding. People were bound to start turning around and looking if he didn't up his game.

"Okay, so how was everyone's shore leave?" he asked, forcefully breathing in, and out, taking note of every inhale and exhale. A distraction would be great for him and every nosy person in the room.

"Scotty didn't even leave his station," an ensign laughed, Jim couldn't bring himself to open his eyes and see who it was.

"I surveyed a bunch of new plants, found a dozen new species, even collected some," Sulu boasted.  
Jim exhaled through his nose, furrowing his eyebrows at the buzzing noise the world was making.

"I bet Spock didn't leave either," someone else had said.

"I didn't have time to do anything else but drink whiskey."

"Didn't have time! You had a week!"

Jim smiled at the officers enjoying themselves, before letting his expression fall flat. The world seemed to be fading away.

"Bet….. be proud….."

"Hell…. Next…. Leave…."

"What….do…."

"I….you….shop…..leave…."

"Is….alright…."

"Cap…?..."

"Captain?"

* * *

Spock turned from his station to face Kirk after the two officers had called the Captain's rank twice with no reply. Kirk was always replied on time when his attention was needed.

Upon turning to face Kirk, there was a split second between digesting the Captain's current condition, which was sliding down the chair, and figuring out what to do.

In a hurry, he leapt up from his own chair with haste the other officers hadn't yet seen of him, and ran to the Captain's side, who was sliding down the chair in a slouched form, unconscious.  
Seconds later, he hit the panel and called for sickbay,

"Bridge to sickbay, urgent assistance is required regarding the Captain," he began, looking down at Jim, who seemed to be struggling with each inhale and favouring his abdomen in his sleep,  
"He has fallen unconscious."


	2. Chapter 2

Spock sat protectively in front of Kirk for the next five minutes while waiting for the doctor to arrive. Vaguely he wondered if the rest of the crew were aware of what transpired on shore leave; he hoped not. The events that were shown to him in the earlier mind-meld ran through his head.

 _"Frank! For god-sakes they're gonna come looking for me!"_

 _"Shut up, you brat, and stop moving, I'm not done yet."_

 _"Frank—stop, this isn't—I'm gonna get—" Jim abruptly drew in a breath when he felt Frank's body on top of him, with his own body face down on the ground, completely stripped of clothes. He was thinking about how this wasn't right. He was wondering how he could defend himself._

 _"I said stop moving!" Jim let out another grunt as something entered his body. He imagined himself to be alone. "There you go, now come on, feel this…" Jim felt intense pain as something grated inside him._

 ** _"STOP!"_**

 _"Come **on** you fucking pathetic brat! Push into me!"_

 _"NO! Fuck off! Leave me the hell al—"_

Spock snapped out of his thoughts again, Jim groaning in his own arms. He had an overwhelming desire to protect him from harm, from this man that had invaded him.

The young man squirmed around the floor, a fine sheet of perspiration present on his forehead. Spock wondered if he was having nightmares about the event. His mind unwillingly pushed him to think of what else he saw.

 _Jim was hauled into the air and slammed onto his back, once again facing his humiliator that bent over him, looking mighty angry, pulling his legs apart with a look on his face that dared him to resist._

 _"If you won't let me ride you then I'll just have to do this another way…" the older man snarled over him, lifting a leg and slamming both feet onto both onto Jim's arms, and he looked on in terror as the man grabbed an unwelcome organ and shoved it down Jim's throat, two hands forcing Jim's head back._

 _He attempted to struggle, trying to escape from the abuser, but the determined hands and feet stayed in place, forcing Jim to stay pinned onto the ground and allowing Frank to move inside his mouth, he lay helpless and wide-eyed._

 _"Suck it, for fuck sake, suck it!"_

 _Jim squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think elsewhere, a gentle whimper in fear that hardly escaped his lips with the intrusion blocking the sound. He imagined he was back on the bridge, safe and sound with his crew members, and an overprotective first officer and CMO._

 _"When will this damn drug work? Obey me you little brat! Fucking suck it!" the hips of the man above him moved violently in an attempt to experience pleasure without much effort from his victim, and Jim tried his best to think of his happy place, waiting for it to be over, "I told you that you were nothing, I could have been wrong," Frank panted through breaths, "You could be a good sucker, show me that you're not nothing you bastard!"  
Fighting through the sedative, he bit down on the intruding penetrator._

 _" **FUCK!** Fuck you!" the organ was extracted, and Jim was left coughing and spluttering, the taste of blood in his mouth, "Alright then you piece of shit, let's see if you can bite down so fucking hard with a gag in your mouth!"  
At the back of his mind, he wondered if he could end his own life. Images of methods began ploughing for his attention._

Spock's eyes shot open, a sharp inhale escaping. Instinctively, he grabbed the moaning Jim, gathering him up into his grasp. No-one would touch him, **_nobody._** No-one could even _look_ at him.

The Vulcan experienced illogical thoughts with what he wanted to do with that man. The man that mistreated his Jim. He wanted to commit murder, one of the most forbidden thoughts in Vulcan history. He could not allow himself to be dwell on it further, but yet, he was compelled.  
His Vulcan strength meant that he could cause serious damage to the other human. Gauge out his eyeballs, damage the bone structure of his—

The turbolift door opened, and McCoy came sauntering out, making a mad dash for the middle of the room, where the Captain lay sprawled out, still unconscious in Spock's grasp. Merely 6 minutes, 32 seconds had passed since the original call to sickbay.

"The hell happened?" the doctor asked attentively, running a beeping cylinder scanner over Jim's figure. Spock growled under his breath and pulled Jim closer to him. McCoy looked at the results on the scanner, and then glanced up at Spock and glared.

"What'd you think you're doing? Put him on the floor," McCoy reached a hand out to loosen Spock's grip but the Vulcan merely shuffled away, squeezing Jim so ridiculously tight into his chest, McCoy wondered if the kid could even breath.

"Do not touch him," Spock warned, an arm wrapped dangerously tight around Jim's abdomen, "I demand that you leave at once." He could not allow Jim to be touched. No-one will ever touch him again. He watched McCoy bite his lip, inspecting Jim's chest intensely, and this flagged up the protective _feelings_ all over again.  
Spock didn't move.

McCoy's eyes softened up as he realised what has happening, slotting the scanner away and getting comfortable on both knees himself.  
"Spock, give him over to me," he ordered gently, gesturing at his arms to let Jim go, once again eying Jim's chest. Spock's eyes narrowed.

"No."

"What's wrong? Jim's only passed out, and I'm his doctor, Spock, I ain't gonna hurt him, alright?"

Spock shook his head once more, a protective primal instinct taking over his logic for the first time since losing his mother. He could not lose Jim to this… to this monster. "I will not."

"Spock," McCoy started, shuffling closer to the men, "You called me here because Jim needed help. So, let me help him."

Spock had an urge to throw Jim over his shoulder and run, but another instinct, a logical instinct, told him to give him over to the doctor, a nagging thought washing to the service of his mind, telling him that McCoy will fix him, like he always did.

Reluctantly, but cautiously, Spock pressed his lips together and maneuverered Jim onto the ground, watching McCoy's moves very carefully.  
Jim's head lulled to the side, and he observed a very concerning lack of rise and falling in his chest.  
Immediately, McCoy ran his hands up onto Jim's neck, frowning as he did so. Spock now realised why he was consistently staring at his chest.  
The doctor grabbed his communicator and flipped it open.

"McCoy to sickbay, I need transport immediately on the bridge, the Captain is unconscious and not breathing, I haven't got the right equipment with me," he barked, pressing a hypo into Jim's forearm. Spock flinched. McCoy noticed.

"You've been out of sorts since I got here. Something you want to tell me?" he asked, slotting in another vial and pressing another hypo to Jim's neck. Spock clenched his fists and shook his head rapidly. Perhaps he should know. Jim cannot be fixed if McCoy did not know the absolute truth.

"Well, if you do know something—and it looks like you do, then I need you tell me immediately." McCoy ordered, rolling Jim onto his side, two steady hands keeping him in place.

"Perhaps when we are alone," Spock finally replied, the rational side of his brain starting to work again. His instinctive outburst was embarrassing, no doubt McCoy would harass him about it later.

"You can explain in sickbay," he advised, glancing over to the medical crew that had appeared on the bridge. Spock didn't notice it; this concerned him greatly. He decided he must be extremely distracted.

"His throat's swollen shut," he explained to them as they knelt down, another crew member shoving a hoverbed onto the bridge, "Anaphylactic shock I'd say, don't know what's caused it though," he sent a glare Spock's way, who remained impassive. "Fifty cc's of cortazone, apply it to his thigh, there's a rash forming on his arms and neck and I want to keep it as clean from drugs as possible,"

"Yes sir," a nurse said, grabbing several vials from a medical kit and swapping over the hypos. A hypo was pressed against Jim's thigh. Spock sat up rigidly straight. McCoy narrowed his eyes.

"Spock, if there's something you're not telling me—"

"Negative doctor, I will consult with you in the sickbay."

McCoy sighed and rolled his eyes, letting out a quiet sigh of relief as Jim's chest started hitching with attempts at breathing. "Take him up, I'll catch up with you," he muttered to the medical staff, turning to Spock and frowning, "Come on, you green blooded moron."

Spock's eyes grew wide with an intense focused stare, his lips pressed together tightly as if stopping himself from yelling something. McCoy decided to ignore it for both their sakes and led them into the turbolift, with Jim, as comfortable as was possible in the situation, laying silently still on the hoverbed.

* * *

McCoy stood directly over Jim's bed, fairly sure that he was frowning harder than he ever had in his life, his eyebrows reaching to new inhumane levels that they'd probably a medical revolution. The fact that the god damn Vulcan showed up seconds later made it all that little bit worse.

"Doctor, correct me if I am wrong, but you appear to be stressed."

McCoy held back the urge to roll his eyes, "Yeah, very observant, Spock, and it shouldn't take a rocket scientist like you to figure out why." He was sure that even his 5-year-old daughter could figure out why.  
Spock craned his head,

"I am not a rocket scientist, doctor," he said, intrigued at the prospect. McCoy suddenly fantasised about ripping the pointy little ears off the damn moron's head; he was sure he knew _exactly_ what he meant and only wanted to piss him off more for some reason.

"It's a _saying,_ Spock," he sighed, exasperated, "Now, you got something to tell me?" he referred back to the conversation earlier, in which the Vulcan inconveniently refused to speak of Jim's dilemma that he _clearly_ knew something about. God damn—

"If we could go somewhere more private…"

McCoy's frown entered a new realm, "Spock, you told me to come to the bridge, you knew something was wrong with Jim and you said you were gonna tell me in sickbay, now we're in sickbay and you want to tell me somewhere else?" he spat angrily, "Do you know something or not!"

Spock stood impassively for a few more seconds before intertwining his hands behind his back.

"Doctor, I do believe the information I have is of the upmost importance, however not only am I risking mutiny by refusing the Captain's orders of secrecy on the matter, but the subject is sensitive to discuss," then he added carefully, "Even for a Vulcan."

McCoy looked away from Jim and settled for staring into space between him and Spock.

"Alright," he mumbled in resignation, "To my office, then," he instructed, gesturing to a room directly to the left of them.

Jim was stable for now, from whatever the hell he had an allergic reaction from. He hoped to hell that he was about to find out.

* * *

Walking into McCoy's office, Spock instantly sat on the furthest chair without requesting permission. He was beginning to believe that the mind-meld with Jim had made him emotionally compromised.

McCoy leant against the wall, staring into Spock's soul, acting intimidating.

"Come on then," he urged him, "Spill it."

Spock let out a heavy breath. He believed explaining what he had seen from Jim's mind would trigger a reaction in him, like just minutes before.

A whole minute of tense silence passed before McCoy sat down in front of him, leaning back and throwing his legs over the side of the chair.

"Spock, if there's something you know about what happened, you have to tell me," he pushed him further, his tone dangerously low to growling.

Spock found himself unable to comply. "It is an entirely personal matter, doctor," he began slowly, sitting rigidly before standing up, "Perhaps this was a mistake,"

McCoy leaped in front of the door before Spock could escape.

"Sit down." he ordered sharply, arms folded against his chest.

With no escape, Spock found himself growing irritated, "Doctor, remove yourself from the door." There had to be an escape.

McCoy narrowed his eyes, taking a step forward until he was practically nose to nose with the Vulcan.

"Mr Spock, I order you to tell me what the fuck is wrong with Jim," he spat.

"I cannot..."

" ** _Now_**."

"I do not wish it."

"Tell me or I'll take your damn ass off duty for being emotionally compromised."

Spock glared the doctor down. They were right in front of each other, he could easily nerve pinch the man and walk off.

Jim did not want this, he could not betray a direct order. But at the same time, if he told no one-especially his doctor, it was possible for the incident to reoccur. It was also likely the allergic reaction was an effect from the assault.

He had made his decision.

"You must swear secrecy, this must be kept between only you and I."

McCoy offered a sincere smile, leading Spock to sit back down again, "It's patient confidentiality, Spock." and grabbed the coffee mug from the table.

He nodded, before sitting up ram rod straight and came out with it.

"Jim has been raped."

Coffee was spat out across the room.

" _What_?" McCoy spluttered, dumbfounded and teeming with fury, "Who attacked him? How the hell do you know? This is one hell of a wild accusation to make, Spock." His tone made it seem he wasn't so sure of what he was hearing, but then again, Vulcan's couldn't lie. Apparently.

Spock lowered his voice a couple of notches but stayed expressionless and unreadable.

"At approximately 2300 hours we performed an emergency transport back up to the transporter room," he began, pausing to decide how to frame his next words, "The Captain was shirtless and his trousers were down to his ankles, he also appeared to be experiences an immense amount of pain, which I lessened from a mind-meld," he took a silent breath, watching McCoy scowl at him in penetrating thought, "In the mind-meld I experienced memories which were not my own, it is only logical to assume from the evidence that they belonged to Jim. I will not go into detail with what I saw, however, I can confirm that he was indeed, assaulted."

A few more difficult moments of tense silence ensued before McCoy managed to gather the courage to speak up.

"Alright, Spock," he muttered under his breath, making his way to his feet, "You know what I have to do now." He placed the coffee mug aside and head for the door, and almost immediately after, Spock grabbed his shoulder and hauled him around.

"You _cannot_ tell Jim that I informed you of his situation."

McCoy gave a small smile, "It's alright, I'll think of something to explain it. Don't suppose you know who it was?" he hoped, as if the meld revealed faces along with the rest of the scene he saw.

"Negative, doctor. Unfortunately, I cannot retrieve a clear picture of the abuser. It is quite common. For Jim, it was, as you would say, 'quite a blur'."

McCoy forced a chuckle to himself before turning back around and walking out the door, heading straight for Jim's room. "I'll find out, don't you worry."

"Perhaps Jim is aware of who it was?"

"My nurses have told me that the kid hasn't uttered a single word. Besides, even if we knew who it was, we'd still need evidence. Like I said, it's a hell of an accusation towards someone."

Spock gave a slight nod, not wanting to imagine what Jim was about to go through, both through the evidence procedure and his future.

He followed McCoy into Jim's room, watching him curiously as he redrew the curtains around them for privacy. Currently there were no other medical staff in the room, and Jim appeared to be sleeping, slightly elevated in the bed.

* * *

Jim was rudely awakened from much needed, although fitful sleep. He felt strange, as if something was wrong—that feeling of dread and anxiety that sits in your stomach and you can't figure out why. He felt oddly bare, the warm fabric of his usual command gold clothes were not snuggling him. Instead, it seemed to be thin cloth that left his legs exposed.

Exposed. _Exposed._  
It suddenly hit him.  
Frank. He was with Frank. He had tried to sexually assault him.

In a spike of fear, Jim rocketed upright, determined that this time, he would escape Frank, and run out the door, call his ship and leave.  
He thrashed, flailing his arms around everywhere to escape from the clutches of hands that tried to grasp onto him, pin him to the ground so that they could be used to abuse him once more, while he was powerless and subject to do whatever Frank wanted.

Someone was trying to speak to him in a calm tone—he assumed it was Frank in his usual frighteningly relaxed voice, as if this was totally normal. But he couldn't hear what he was saying over his own rapid breathing and pounding heart.

 _Smack!_ His foot had finally collided with something; but another pair of hands latched onto him seconds later, how could that be possible? He let out a cry of distress and attempted to bite every hand that came near him, as if he were a starved rabid creature trying to rip apart the skin of its prey.

Finally, a quick sting to his thigh. It didn't hurt this time, and he certainly got no pleasure from it. He was probably growing used to it. But he found that he was growing fatigued, or at least his muscles were. Only seconds later did he find that he couldn't move his arms or legs, or even lift his head. He let out a small cry of anguish through unmoving lips, willing himself to move. Now Frank could use him for his own pleasure.

Another sting, but to the opposite side of his thigh. A tear escaped from his eye, and he was silently angry with himself. He didn't want to show Frank any weakness, that he had been beaten. But overtime, he began to find it easier to hear. His unresponsive body remained still and uncooperative, although the world around him fell into focus.

Then he realised, he was no longer in the house, and this wasn't Frank on top of him.  
He was on the Enterprise, with his friends, and McCoy—Bones, and Spock were looming over him, deep worry etched into every inch of the doctor's face. Spock looked as if he were trying to keep holding up his mask but was failing. Had he attacked them?

"Hey kid," McCoy cautiously circled him, before nabbing a stool and sitting next to him, "You scratched the shit outta Spock, had to give you a muscle relaxant," he explained, with Spock standing idly behind him as if there was not in fact a giant gash on his arm, dripping green brilliantly.

Jim let his gaze wander over to McCoy, and frowned, "Bones…"

"Take it easy. You'll be alright. Spock told me everything."

At that, not only could Bones hear Jim's heartrate rocket up out of nowhere, but he was pretty sure he could hear Spock's fists clench together.

Jim tried to sit up but grunted as the medication refused him, "You told him?" he directed at Spock, attempting to sound angry but his voice just cracked instead.

"I apologise… I did not intend for you to know."

"I ordered you! I gave you a direct fucking _order!"_ his left arm flinched, attempting to rebel from the numb feeling. McCoy stood up suddenly,

"Don't eat him out for it, Jim, I ordered him to tell me."

Kirk's face looked well and truly heartbroken. He had intended for the whole situation to just be kept down low. "You…" he was lost for words. "How did you know?"

McCoy scoffed, "Your _unemotional_ Vulcan here called me down the bridge when you collapsed, only for the damn pointy eared bastard to grip you so god damn tight I'm pretty sure he's broken some ribs," he was aware of Spock's gaze drilling into the back of his head, "He was enraged. I knew something was wrong and he didn't have to tell me. Jim, who did this to you?"

 _Frank_ , he wanted to say. "I don't know" came out instead.

"Can't help you, if you don't let me."

"I don't _know!"_ he spoke louder, imagining himself just slapping his friggin' CMO across the face. McCoy gave him a knowing look, the look a parent would give you when they know you're lying about not eating the sweets.

"Uh-huh. Well I'm gonna find out anyway. Spock, I need you to leave now." Both men tensed up instantly, clearly knowing what was coming next.

"I would prefer it, if I could stay." Spock attempted, knowing it was futile as no other person was allowed in the room… during a rape kit procedure.

"He's not likely to go ballistic Spock, I just need to be alone with him for a while."

Spock tried to make eye contact with Jim, receiving begging looks in return, but did not know how to interpret it. Did Jim want him to stay or leave?

"I will be back momentarily." he decided, which was apparently the right reaction as Jim visibly relaxed a little. The harsh scraping of the curtains being drawn back and forth made him want to cringe. However, he was Vulcan, and such acts were human in nature.

"Alright, Jim," Bones began softly, pacing over to a set of controls for the biobed, "You know what we have to do. It'll be over before ya know it," he said, pressing a button which subsequently dipped the front of the bed back, until the head was dipped back and his legs were still straight out flat.

Jim's heart stuttered at the lopsided position, all of a sudden feeling very vulnerable. "Can't we do this another day? I mean let me get over it first?" The sight of Bones obnoxiously snapping on gloves made it worse.

"The sooner we do it the clearer the evidence will be."

"It was Frank" he admitted frantically.

"I know."

"Then can't we stop this?"

"No, like I said, we need evidence."

Jim desperately wanted to roll off the bed and run as far away from the room as possible. It felt like only moments ago he was being humiliated and used him sickeningly. He felt as if every strand of what made him a decent and strong Captain was ripped away from him.

"Please, don't do this-" he whimpered pathetically.

"Would you rather me get a woman to do this instead?"

"No!" Jim shouted a little too quickly, "No... if it has to be someone then it must be you but I don't want this-"

"Do you want me to sedate you?"

"I don't know, I don't want this"

McCoy glanced up at the screaming monitors; heart rate was going nuts, he was well on his way to having a panic attack. Jim was not acting like the bold confident person he always knew, spewing shit about 'no-win scenario's'. Now he just seemed terrified and didn't care to show it.

He pressed his hands against either side of Jim's head. Kirk bucked and wrenched forward instantly.

"Jim, look at me," he crooned,

"No-"

"Jim, look- slow down your breathing, okay? It's alright, we'll take it real slow-"

"I don't want this-"

"I know you don't, but we have to do it. It's gonna be alright."

"Can't you just forget this happened and move on?"

"No."

"Please, Bones, I can't do this-"

"I'm gonna give you a mild sedative-"

"No-"

"Jim, calm-"

"No, fuck off-"

"Jim-"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

 _hisssss..._

….

"Bones..."

"Just relax."

"Why are you doing this..."

"To be really annoying. Now close your damn eyes."

"I'm tired..."

"I know, it's the medicine."

"Didn't feel it..."

McCoy waited for Jim's eyes to finally flutter shut before unfolding the equipment out from under the bed and manhandling his legs into the lithotomy position.

"Damn sick human beings. And to think we've supposedly evolved," he muttered to himself, reaching to wheel over a light and adjusted it into position.

"What has happened to Jim?" came that damned annoying voice of the Vulcan from outside the cubicle.

"He's sleeping. Can ya do me a favour and get nurse Chapel?" he called back, inspecting things that he did not want to be inspecting. Perhaps handing the job over to Chapel and taking the credit wasn't such a bad idea after all.

He swabbed a couple of areas and scanned a few injuries, and at the back of his mind he couldn't help but wonder how much it must have hurt. There was no way in hell he would let Frank get away with this.

At that moment, Chapel pushed her way into the cubicle, not taken aback at all with the position Jim was in, legs spread apart and in the air. Professional attitude at its most.

"What can I do?" she asked, scanning through the PADD that McCoy left on the table tray next to him.

"Take over from me, will you? I'm gonna look for other injuries, Spock told me he was favouring his stomach."

She nodded and obliged instantly as if it was something she did every day.

Thankfully, it wasn't.

* * *

...

...

..."Jim."...

"...Yeah, he's comin' 'round..."

...

"...Come on, open your eyes..."

Jim ever so slightly cracked open an eye. God, he felt like utter shit; dazed and lethargic. He could fall asleep on command right now.

"There ya go," Bones was standing over him yet again.

"All done now," he heard the voice of Chapel say from a distance.

"How you feeling?"

Jim scowled at the CMO for as long as he could keep his muscles in place. Then he fell slack and sighed.

"That great, huh?"

Jim mumbled something incoherent under his breath.

"What?"

Jim grunted. "M'srry I was weird"

He felt a hand on his shoulder, "S'alright, it's to be expected at a time like this."

"But I'm Captain Kirk..."

"No, for now you're Jim, and you can be weird if you want to be."

Jim imagined himself rolling his eyes—the idea couldn't be a reality as of yet because of how damn tired he was.  
He sat up wearily, noticing the slight sway in his body and the small aches and pains in a variety of areas, but refused to acknowledge them. The events of what happened loomed in the back of his mind, pressuring him to dwell on it, but he wouldn't. He can't. He was still Captain Kirk and he needed a distraction.

"I'm going to the bridge" he muttered quietly, sliding his feet to the floor and attempting a first step before being rammed back onto the bed in a sitting position by the CMO.

"Like hell you are. What makes you think you can handle it?" damn his doctor for being so overprotective. Getting back into the old routine of things will surely help distract him until he stopped caring.

"I just _know_ ," he protested loudly, standing back up again and pushing past McCoy, " _Move_."

"Jim—"

"I'm going to the bridge."

"Take one more step and I'll make it a medical order to keep you in here."

Jim scowled at the friend—no, his enemy, his _rival_ that was currently betraying him.

"Bones… I need a distraction. I won't do anything stupid, I swear" he didn't exactly know what _stupid_ classified as, since Jim did a number of things that Bones was pissed at, but it was worth a try.

And in actuality, McCoy surprised him.

"On one condition," Bones said remarkably close from behind him.  
Oh boy.  
It was probably something awful like, only salad for a week, or bed before 8pm, or something else—

"You can't use the transporter yet. Meaning you can't beam down with away teams. Spock will cover for you until I give you the all clear."

Jim shrugged. It could be worse. Like not being able to eat a hamburger for a week.  
"Alright, Bones," he agreed with more pep than he expected from himself, "It's a deal. No transporting until you say so."

"Yeah. If I catch you anywhere near that transporter room I will personally drag you back here screaming by the hair whether you're flooding the corridors with your tears or not."

Jim folded his arms, "I can go a week without transporting. That's easy," he boasted confidently. He smiled at McCoy's raised eyebrow, "Leave it to me."


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N: I just like to torture him, tbh.**

Having managed to successfully convince Bones to let him back on the bridge (which was usually impossible considering his mother-hen instincts), Jim was now sitting in his Captain's chair and ignoring all the questioning looks people were giving him.

He had absolutely no idea where the Enterprise was going as he hadn't pluck up the courage to speak to Spock yet, and quite frankly the ship could be drifting in the middle of nowhere and he'd be happy with it. He was back in control of the ship, and in control over the situation, and nothing else mattered.

So far, he was doing a good job with hiding his secret. And he was determined to keep it that way.

As soon as anyone found out what had happened with Frank, his career would be ruined.

He slid his hands over the arm rests of the chair, feeling the rough material under his fingertips. A word should probably be spoken to the crew, otherwise his long silence would start to seem suspicious.

"So, how was your shore leave's?" he blurts out loud to no particular person.

"I was offered a promotion to Lieutenant on another ship!" An ensign squeaked with excitement, seemingly ignorant of the tense aura of the room.

"Obviously, you did not accept," Spock spoke up, which was surprising to Kirk as he never engaged in small talk- if he could avoid it. Jim was glad that Spock hadn't questioned his presence on the bridge…yet.

But then…just as Kirk was getting comfortable…

 ** _CRASH!_** The ship shook and Jim was propelled forward instantly—they'd hit something.  
Slamming his hand on the left armrest, his fingers intuitively hit the correct controls, sending the ship into dimmed red flashing lights, a gesture that he was all too familiar with.

He shot up instantly, turning towards his unmoving crew members.

"What was that?" he demanded, glancing from person to person who seemed to be unaware of the emergency, "Why didn't anyone tell me?" Damn incompetent people. Perhaps it would have been better if that ensign _was_ transferred to another ship.

"What was what, Captain?" Lieutenant Almura asked, who seemed extremely confused and was acting just like everyone else; completely unphased by their imminent doom and looking around the room for an explanation.

"We've been attacked, what was it, a Klingon Warbird?" he looked around the room frantically but no one seemed to be moving. There were a couple of people slowly getting out their seats and reading instruments.

"Argh!" he shouted in frustration, darting over to the science station where Spock stood impeccably (irritatingly) straight.  
Dipping his head into the monitor, he saw something that sent a brick into his stomach.

 _Delta NCC-1344A. Containing usually two passengers._ He recognised that ship. It was stolen eleven years ago…

 _Frank._

He glanced up from the monitor, feeling sick to his stomach. _Get everyone to safety._

"Get off the ship!" he suddenly spun around wildly, catching Spock off guard, "Evacuate! Evacuation procedures! Get off the ship! Oh jesus—"

"Captain." Spock tugged him around to face him, managing to keep that emotionless mask under control. "There is no ship in our vicinity, nor was the Enterprise hit by any incoming weapons, wreckage or debris of any kind."

Jim stared at him for a second before taking a deep breath and shaking his head, "No. No, I know what I saw, it's Frank, he's gonna—he's _here_ , Spock," he kept his voice down to a whisper, a degree of panic evident in his tone.

Spock cocked his head slightly for a second before going back to check the monitor again. Even if an enemy _was_ coming within visual range, his Jim would _never_ admit to defeat and abandon ship. His concern grew rapidly.  
Jim watched him, waiting anticipatingly.  
The Vulcan looked up, paused for a second, then turned to face him, keeping his reply hushed.

"Jim, perhaps it is ideal to see the Doctor."

Kirk shook his head hastily, Frank was minutes away and he needed to get the crew off board before he murdered his crew in cold blood to get to him. A feat that Frank had threatened only days earlier.

"No, I need to help with the evacuation. Get to your Kelvin pods, quickly!" the rest of the crew remained frozen to their seats, staring at him questioningly.

"Do not act on Kirk's orders. I am taking command of this vessel under the circumstance that he is still unfit for duty." Spock announced coolly, giving Kirk a _get out of here_ stare.

"What—you can't—"

"I order you to report to sickbay, Kirk."

"No, hold on, you can't do that, I'm the Captain—"

"Are you disobeying a direct order?"

"No, no of course not, I—"

"Then please report to Doctor McCoy before I have you removed."

Jim gawped at Spock's sudden threat—if it could be called a threat. Why couldn't he see that he was just trying to save everyone's lives? There were over 400 people on this ship!  
He gave into the pushing of his first officer and headed for the turbolift, every crew member turning to watch him as he walked by. As he walked, memories of his first encounter on the Enterprise came to the surface. Spock attitude was dangerously similar to how it was back then.

….

Going to sickbay was exactly what he _didn't_ do and damn anyone who thought he would. Disobeying a direct order, his ass. Instead, he was heading for the transporter room, where he would beam upon Frank's ship and blow it from the inside.

Oh… but Jim had an inkling of a thought reminding him that he did not kill under any circumstance if it could be avoided.  
But Frank. _Frank._ The world would be a better place without him, right? This was certainly _not_ a desire for revenge.

Kirk hightailed it into the transporter room, deciding that if no one would abandon ship, then he'll have to get rid of the intruding one. He'd strike before Frank and his associate even knew he were there.

Scotty was already manning the controls when Kirk came in, and looked taken aback when the Captain stormed into the room, heading straight towards him.

"Cap'n! I didn't expect to see ye here so soon. What can I do for ye?"

Jim folded his arms together and stretched his fingers out to pull at his yellow sleeves, keeping them in his grasp. He ignored the little voice in his head telling him he was feeling anxious—Jim was never anxious.

"I need to beam onto that ship, the Delta. I'll intercept from the inside," he commanded, hoping Scotty didn't know that he'd just been put out of rank by Spock.

"Ach… sir, I'm under orders by Doctor McCoy _not_ let you beam down at all. You gotta stay on the ship, sir." He seemed generally upset by this, so there was that. Now to convince him otherwise.

"No, Scotty, this is important. I'm the Captain, and you gotta do what I say, alright? McCoy—he's protective, but there's nothing wrong with me. If I'm gonna save everyone on the ship then I need to beam over. You don't wanna be the reason why our ship got destroyed, do you?" he kept the real reason to himself. Frank was unlikely to blow up the ship, because Jim was on it. However, he _would_ possibly massacre everyone on it to hunt Jim down on his own.

"Of course I don't, sir. Well, you see…"

"Please, Scotty, everyone is depending on you right now."

"I mean, sir, perhaps, but the problem is—"

"Ignore McCoy, okay? Please. Listen to me. As your friend."

" _Ahem,"_ Scotty tried to get a word in to Jim's pleading ramblings, "The _problem is,_ there's no a ship in sight, sir. We're on our own out here, ah don't understand what ye going on about!"

Jim blinked unbelievably at him for a second, before shaking his head and marching behind the console himself. A strange taste in his mouth was pushed to the back of his mind, having more important things to worry about.

"I gotta get down there, Mr Scott." he hoped the use of his formal name would shake some sense into him. Apparently, it didn't.

"Sir, like ah just said, there are no ships in sight. You'll beam down in-tah nothing!"

Jim closed his eyes, frustrated. "I gotta do this," he mumbled, pushing Scotty out the way and meddling with the controls himself. He saw the damn ship for himself and he wasn't gonna risk anything.

He abruptly began to hear himself breathing, as if he was hearing it through holophones. Licking his lips, and ignoring the taste in his mouth, he flipped another switch, causing Scotty to practically leap over.

"Sir, ye gotta rethink this!"

Jim managed to shake his head, lowering a fist to the delayed transport button with a loud _thwack!_ before everything went black.

...

Scotty watched in distress as the Captain ignored his protests and continued beaming himself down into what was likely absolutely nothing—not to mention the CMO had given him a specific order to _not_ let Kirk use the transporter.

And yet here he was, inviting himself down to the planet. Scotty began to think that taking a jump onto Kirk for the sake of his career would be the right choice. But at the same time, would it be mutiny? Kirk was no longer in command after all, it was Spock.

Just as he was about to shove Kirk away from the controls, Kirk's hand slammed onto the delayed transporter countdown before the man himself doubled over and collapsed at the same time.  
He stared for a second before managing to pull himself together,

"Ach… oh no," he lunged for the controls after delicately stepping over the Kirk in a heap on the floor and called down to sickbay.

"Mr Scott to sickbay, the Captain—uh, Kirk, has just passed out on my transporter!" Well not exactly _on_ my transporter, he thought, but close enough.

"McCoy here, I'm on my way. What the hell'd I tell you about letting him transport down?" a gruff unmistakeable voice of the CMO answered, sounding harsh enough to seem like he was stopping himself from yelling at the engineer's incompetence.

"I couldn't do anything doctor," he replied, staring down at Kirk and suddenly realised he should check if he was still breathing….. he was. "He pushed himself against the controls and demanded me to comply, provoking him with aggression back would be mutiny!"

There was a sigh on the other end of the receiver built into the console, before a disgruntled "Hmmm" came back in reply.

"I'm the CMO Scott—dammit get out the damn way! Can't you see this is an emergency!" Scotty couldn't help but smile at the doctor yelling to his victims that were in his way. He noticed Kirk's body twitch for a second, then stop. He frowned.

"Anyway, I'm the CMO, and I have more authority over the Captain order-wise. And besides, he's not in command anymore—dammit why is this turbolift so slow! Scotty, you gotta fix this, like put it an emergency mode or something. Can't save lives if the turbolift is slower than a sick old horse."

Scotty nodded, regardless of the fact McCoy couldn't see, keeping his eye on Kirk, who twitched harder this time. "Aye, sir," he replied, "I'll let ye know next—" he was cut off mid-sentence when Kirk's body jerked to the side and started seizing,

"Ah! Uh…" he sheepishly knelt down to the floor and tried to keep a firm grip on Kirk's shaking body, having absolutely no idea what to do.

"Scotty? What's going on?" a hint of panic in the CMO's voice.

Scotty moved both hands on top of Kirk's violently trembling shoulders, biting his lip when noticing how tense up his muscles are "He's shaking like mad, doctor!"

" _What_ —dammit, hold on I'm almost—" the door hissed open and McCoy was _literally_ running in, eying both Scotty and Kirk on the floor behind the transporter controls and skidded in, kneeling down and practically throwing his medkit against the console.

"Alright, get him on his side," he ordered urgently, supporting Jim's body weight with his hands and, with the help of Scotty, managed to manoeuvre Kirk onto his side.

Kirk's entire frame was vibrating against the floor, occasionally he made a wheezing noise, the impact startling his system.

McCoy reached for his half-open medkit that was thrown across the floor upon arriving, and quickly grabbed a hypo, switching around a vial, "What happened?" he asked while jamming its contents into Jim's neck.

"I don't know, doctor! He just asked to be transported down to the ship Delta—which isn't even here by the way, and then I refused so he tried to do it himself, and well…" he gestured to Kirk's flailing limbs, "You know what happened after that."

McCoy glanced up at the engineer for a second, concern evident on his face, whether it was from Kirk or what Scotty had just said was unknown.  
"You said he wanted to get onto the Delta?"

"Aye, that he did. But as I said, it was never there—and I checked myself, it never came into range, in fact we've never encountered it at all during this entire 5-year mission."

Apparently, the concern on McCoy's face was because of Scotty, because the frown just grew deeper.

"I'll look into it," he muttered, loosening his grip on Kirk as the full-on seizure settled into trembling.

"He was twitching a little earlier, maybe that would help ye?" Scotty offered, both men now gazing at Kirk. McCoy didn't answer him, and instead just picked up a scanner and hovered it over Jim's torso.

"Somethin' weird here," he mumbled, sliding the scanner away and tugging Jim's shirt up.

To his surprise, there were a couple of puncture marks over his abdomen. Not to mention the dark bruises running up his chest and under his arms.

Frowning, he reached out a hand to glaze over the wound, but another hand, that was not his, slapped itself over it instead.

Glancing up, he saw Jim brushing the surface of consciousness, moaning under his breath.

"Ngghhh..."

He raised his eyebrows, "Nice of ya to join us. Care to tell me what these are?" he asked, getting straight to the point.

At his voice, Jim's eyes slid open slightly, before realisation hit and he completely shot up into a sitting position, wrapping arms around his abdomen protectively, eyes lit up in a state of panic.

"Bones, Scotty, back away-the door, head for the door..." Kirk spoke carefully, as if explaining to a child what to do.

"Jim, I need to look at your-"

"Bones, Scotty," he repeated, glad that Scotty was sensible enough to stand up now, "Leave the room, quickly, I've got my eye on him," Jim's grip on his stomach grew tighter, a fist clenching his skin.

Being careful not to startle him, McCoy cautiously reached for his med-kit that lay scattered behind him, spreading a steady hand over every instrument and waiting to feel the correct cylinder shape of the hypo. At least Scotty had the sense to keep him distracted.

"Aye, sir, now how about ye tell me how many crew members are on board the Delta?" he was asking, struggling to think of anything else at that moment. It seemed to be Jim's priority.

Kirk squeezed his stomach harder, squinting in deep thought, his fingernails biting into his skin.

"Three...no...four hundred and... thirty...nine..." Jim recalled, eying the invisible man that was apparently behind McCoy.

"Ayeee," the engineer drawled out, while watching McCoy pull out a hypo from behind him, having successfully found it, "I can bet a lifetime supply of Scotch that their engineer is no gonna be better than me."

Jim beamed at that, in such a natural and honest way that it made both McCoy and Scotty return the gesture, "You _are_ the best engineer, Scotty,"

While Scotty and Kirk were exchanging eye contact, McCoy almost leapt forward to close the distance between him and Jim, and rapidly jammed a hypo into the kid's neck before he could react.

"Bones-!" Jim's face was painted with the look of someone who had been betrayed, he was already struggling to stay upright, his entire torso sagging forward.

McCoy darted both arms around Jim's waist and held him upright for a few seconds, before giving a look to Scotty that just screamed _help me_.

He answered right away of course, taking the young man by the shoulders and gently pushing him back to the floor, with McCoy keeping his hands under his back the whole time.

Jim now lay half panting on his back with a fierce mask set in place, eyes fixated on the ceiling and desperate to regain control.

"Frank's on his way..." Jim mumbled absentmindedly. Scotty watched him, his chin in his hand.

McCoy glanced up, alarmed.

"Frank?" he questioned. He knew _exactly_ who this man was.

Could he have...?

Jim had mentioned Frank assaulting him before, but he was in a semi-conscious state while desperately trying to escape an exam. He assumed he'd say anything to get out of it, but really…?

"Frank." Jim repeated, attempting to sit up again.

"Uh-no, kid, stay there," Bones kept a firm hand down on Jim's left shoulder, practically pinning him to the floor, "Is he the guy that beat the shit outta ya?" he tried to put it lightly, sugarcoating the truth.

"I don't know a Frank on board a Delta, lads," Scotty spoke up, now having acquired a PADD.

McCoy frowned at the situation, "That's 'cause there ain't one," he gave Jim a slight nudge, "So? Was he the guy that hurt ya?"

Jim still didn't reply to McCoy's question, not wanting anyone else to know. Or rather, he didn't want to admit it. The growing suspicious that it _was_ Frank after all began to concern him.

"Need everyone to get off the ship..." he muttered, determined to save every last one of his crew members from Frank.

"No one is going anywhere," McCoy stared at his scanner for the fifth time and decided Jim was fine to move now, "Except you."

He yanked Jim's shirt up again, wanting to determine what the pin-prick wound was before moving him.

Unfortunately for him, Jim's hands were clenched around his stomach.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he took a deep breath and inched closer, gently brushing his hands over Jim's clenched ones.

"Move your fingers, kid," he urged, pressing down on Jim's thumb a little to prove his point. The kid didn't budge.

"Jim..." he tried to pry the fingers away, getting only a high-pitched whine in response.

"Lad, perhaps you should listen to the doctor?" Scott spoke up from beside them.

"Jim, I need to look." he sighed, staring at the unyielding fingers. Perhaps a sedative...

"Don't fucking touch me." Jim managed to spit out with gritted teeth.

McCoy frowned, before shaking his head and reaching for the hands again; but the hands jolted away.

"Don't fucking touch me you piece of shit!"

"Jim, I'm not gonna hurt you god damn it!"

Scotty butt into the upcoming argument, "Would ye' like me to get sickbay for ye'?"

Jim and Bones both shouted at the same time,

"No!"

"Yes!"

They both instantly turned to scowl at each other. Jim was in a fiercely protective of himself, which worried McCoy to no end.

If Frank was the sadistic twit that abused him, then it'd only make sense that he'd think Frank was after him.

PTSD perhaps? He decided that a psychological scan was needed. Not an assessment with a person, thank god, as it was always down to only an opinion of a 'professional' to determine a man's fate.

But here they had machines, and while he hated using them for physical and internal injuries, mental issues were always better diagnosed with firm accuracy of a scanner.

How he going to get Jim to oblige, however, was another matter entirely.

Jim _did_ just have a seizure, though. His vitals had calmed, although it was always customary to run further testing. Perhaps this could be his excuse; he could find out about the pin-prick hole at the same time.

"So, kid," Bones sighed, exasperated, "Unless you want another seizure, you should come with me."

 _Give him a choice_ , he thought _, it'll make him trust you._

"I'm staying here Bones, you need to help me get the others of the ship."

Damn it.

"Why the hell not? You're no good half-conscious seizing on the floor are ya?"

Jim glared at him.

"You want everyone to be staring? How 'bout this; you go to sickbay, I'll get everyone off the ship." he lied, growing frustrated now.

The moron had 10 seconds to move his backside to sickbay before he hypo'd the kid into oblivion.

He saw Scotty nervously shifting around in the corner of his eye.

"How can I believe you? You'd say anything to-"

"Oh, for the love of..." McCoy snatched up a hypo and jammed it into the negligent kid's neck before he had a chance to blink.

"Why you..." Jim toppled forward into an awkward position on the floor before he could finish his sentence. He waited for the entire contents of the vial to empty this time, to make sure he was properly asleep and not half-conscious.

McCoy glanced up to Scotty, who looked equally as confused before glaring the kid down. "Damn infant."

...

Ten minutes later, and McCoy was back in his office, searching through every aspect of Frank's records. He needed to know if what Jim said was really true- the sick fuck was free to roam and apparently abuse people.

Jim was safely under the care of his nurses, and if they even let a sneeze go undetected...

"Sir?"

McCoy swiped off Frank's extremely long and detailed criminal history from the PADD with haste and turned his head to the door; he was so engrossed that he didn't hear it open.

"Nurse Sanscro." he acknowledged with a nod, "What can I do for ya?"

The nurse nervously twiddled with her fingers, "Actually, sir, I wondered what I could do for you..."

McCoy's face turned red and he shot up instantly, PADD gripped in hand. Did Jim put her up to this? God damn it, his nurses should know better than agree to play with Kirk's half delirious practical jokes that he couldn't care about—

"Oh no no no... I didn't mean..."

McCoy blew out an angry huff through his nostrils and placed the PADD down.

Jesus, he had a corrupted mind.

"Well, how about you try rephrasing that, nurse?" a slight hint of intimidation was present in his voice.

"Ah-uh-uh, I meant, uh... the release papers- I..."

McCoy scoffed, folding his arms and strolling up to her, "Oh, yeah yeah, sure. _Release_ _papers_." he swiped up his PADD from the coffee table, "For who?"

The nurse shuffled backwards a bit, "Uhh... I thought you told me to do it, sir."

McCoy frowned; he always signed the release papers himself.

"Who is it?"

"Oh- Jim-The uh, Captain- uh, ex-Captain... guest? Uh...-"

McCoy slammed the PADD down, "There are no release papers for Kirk, nurse!"

She stepped back, seemingly pretty frightened of him, "I know, sir... did you want me to write it up then? I can let you do it if you want."

"What am I, a typewriter?" he shook his head and threw the PADD down. He knew it was his job to sign the release forms, but good lord, he was livid.

Damn kid. "Is he already gone?"

"Yes sir..." she replied apprehensively, edging towards the door. Any further back and the door would slide shut. Perhaps it should.

He took a breath, "Firstly, you don't let patients go until the release forms are signed by _me_ , and secondly-"

"Sorry sir..."

" _Secondly_ , Kirk is known to venture off without permission anyway, so you should've been watching him."

"Sir, Kirk told me that you had already agreed to sign his release papers which is why I let him go."

McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. _Of course he did._

Sanscro was new, having picked her up from a space station a week ago. And already McCoy had instilled fear into the hearts of his nurses, which he secretly enjoyed.

"I'll find him myself, I haven't given the damn fool a physical yet. I saw a bunch of bruises and puncture marks, you know that? And the idiot has the nerve to go walking right out..." the rant became quieter as McCoy left the room, leaving the nurse both embarrassed and confused.

...

Jim dashed into his quarters, rolling into the corner of the room and yelling the locking command before the doors had finished sliding shut.

"Computer, lock doors, deny all entry to...to everyone..." he panted, shutting his eyes and reminding himself to breathe.

"Door locked to all personnel excluding ranks Captain, First Officer and Chief Medical Officer."

Jim clenched his teeth and slammed his head against the wall, "Everyone, I said everyone, that includes the damn CMO! Lock the CMO out!"

"Cannot comply."

"Argh!"

McCoy was on his way, and that meant he'd be able to get in his quarters.

Perhaps shoving his desk up against the door would stop it from opening?

He turned around to grab the first heaviest thing he lay eyes upon, but something else awaited him instead.

"I'd take apart the mechanism of the door if I were you. Or actually, you can do that, because I can't do it. In fact, I don't even know that!"

Jim blinked and breathed harshly at the sight of the man in front of him.

Frank. _Frank._

He'd gotten on board. He found his way on board.

Did he murder the other crew members? Did he take them hostage? Did he hurt them too? Was he going to take him away again?  
His panicked thoughts sent his already jumbled mind into overdrive.

"Take apart the door Jimmy, no-one would get in. Just you n' me, Jimmy." Frank snarled, creeping in closer to him. Jim shook his head rapidly, twitching his neck from the door back to Frank. He couldn't take his advice. He wouldn't.

"Take apart the door, Jimmy."

He blinked again, wishing it was just an image in his mind. He blinked once more.  
It wasn't. His breath hitched. Frank was here.

" ** _JIMMY_**!" Frank suddenly began screaming at the top of his lungs, "TAKE APART THE FUCKING DOOR!"

Jim stumbled back, lost for words for a second, before finally shaking his head and standing his own ground. No, he was Captain, and damn it to hell, he _will_ keep himself in control.

"I'm keeping you here as our prisoner to take you back to Earth," Jim decided, turning his back on Frank and heading towards the door. A gnawing feeling in his gut began to swell.

He thought he'd won that argument when there was silence in reply.  
As he thought, it didn't last long.

" ** _JIMMY_**. DESTROY THE FUCKING DOOR."

Jim sucked in a breath.  
Nope.

"No." he ordered with as much authority as possible, flinching at the sound of his voice cracking. He wouldn't not lose control. He would not give in to Frank. This monster was going to stay locked on the Enterprise and he would be taken back to Earth to stand trial for his actions.

A cold feeling creeped up on his shoulder, sending shivers down his spine.  
"Jimmy..." the deep angry voice spoke in a warning tone as if speaking to a disobeying child, filled with fury in such a way that the simple word sounded like he was holding himself back from beating the shit out of him any second now, the tenseness in his voice sending his anxiety rocketing up.

Then he screamed at Jim again, " _You HOPELESS PIECE OF SHIT!"_

Jim bit his lip.

"Destroy. The. Door."

Jim sucked in a shaky uneven breath, "N-no." He cringed at his voice wavering, but unable to stop the steps he took towards the door.

This time the voice sounded as if it was right next to his ear, the harsh breath and alcohol-stench of breath penetrating his nostrils.

"Go on, Jimmy," Frank breathed onto his cheek, "Break the door."

Kirk found himself hovering in front of the door, forcing himself to breathe in and out as if the involuntary action of breathing was wiped from his mind.

 _In… Out… In… Out…_

 _Just do it. Just do it. He'll leave you alone. Just do it._

He clenched his fists, closing his eyes and imagining himself tearing the panel apart.

"Go on Jimmy, destroy that door for me."

 _Don't do it. Don't do it. You'll be trapped with him. Don't do it._

"Break that shit apart, Jimmy. Rip the fucking cables out like the insane savage man you are."

 _Do it. Do it. Do it. Show him your power._

 _Don't do it, don't give into him._

In distress, Jim let out a frustrated cry and ran his fist into the wall – away from the door panel, but still into a reinforced metal.

On impact, he let out a choked sob and stumbled backwards, cradling his hand and heaving in another shaky breath.

"Just a little to the right, Jimmy. You can do it." The sentence brought out bad memories of only a few days before. He shook his head, shoving his hands under his armpits and forcing himself to walk back to his bed, one foot after the other, with enormous effort.

"What the fuck are you doing, you useless animal? Break the fucking door before I break your pretty face doing it!"

Jim gripped the sides of his head with his hands, squeezing his eyes shut and letting out a quiet moan.

 _Frank isn't here. Frank isn't here._

"Jimmy… They're coming, Jimmy. That means I can't be with you. Close the door, Jimmy. Lock the door, Jimmy." A mere second passed, before suddenly, " ** _Close the door Jimmy!"_** Frank's voice sounded panic-striken now, freaked and hysterical.

"No! **_Fuck off!_** " Jim screamed back in rage, "Fuck off back to Iowa!"

"Please, Jimmy! Destroy the door! They're coming!"

 _Pat pat pat pat._ The unmistakeable sounds of running footsteps in the hall way. And one heavy sound of the rise and fall of boots signalled to him that Bones was with them.

"Jimmy! Jimmy please! Don't do this to me Jimmy!" the voice was screaming in his head now, he couldn't see Frank, in fact the more he thought about It, the room was beginning to fade to white, "Jimmy! Jimmy! Jimmy! Jimmy _please!"_

" ** _LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!"_** Jim screamed back into nothingness, cradling his head and shaking madly, pacing the room like a madman.

"Jim? Are you in there?" the voice sounded familiar and far away.

"Jimmy! Jimmy! Jimmy please! Jimmy, help me!"

" ** _NO!"_** he roared back, heaving so desperately now for breathes that his lungs couldn't keep up with him.

"Jim? Can you open the door for me, kid?"

Jim let out a scream of anguish and collapsed onto his knees, whimpering like a kicked puppy, groaning repetitively. The noise in his head was too much.

 _Too much._

"Who the fuck do you think you are, Jimmy? Disobeying me like this? Didn't you learn from last time?!"

 _Too much._

"Captain. Pathetic. You can't even stand up for yourself."

Jim fell onto his side, staring at the blank wall in front of him and sharply, rapidly forcing in breaths, his eyes going wide as he struggled to breathe.

"Come on, Jimmy. I've got you right where I want you, Jimmy. It's a shame you didn't destroy the door, I've escaped now, Jimmy, it's your fault."

"Jim? Damn it, I'm gonna use the override."

Jim's eyes rolled around his head, his jaw gaping open as he fought for air. Frank was taking all his air. Frank was punishing him. He sucked in another strained inhale, then let out another choked sob.

"Look what you did, Jimmy. Look at you. **_Look at you!"_** the voice was so loud, so prominent, the entire world was Frank's voice.

 _Beep, beep, beep-beep-beep, beep-beep, beep—swissssh._

The door opened. _Oh fuck._ Now Frank could escape.

"Oh, Jesus, okay, alright," he heard the voice in the distance, but it didn't belong to Frank. He thought he recognised it, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

As a figure dressed in blue approached him, he let out a strained and—scared, whimper. Another figure followed, both of them kneeling down beside him, while he was curled on his side and frozen to the floor.

Something—someone pulled an eyelid back and shone the sun into it. Jim flinched tremendously and started literally vibrating on the floor in fear.

"Alright—alright, it's okay sweetheart," a female voice soothed from the front of him, the one that had tried to blind him.

 _"I've found him, Jimmy…"_

"Both pupils are dilated, sir, it looks like he's drugged," the nurse suggested, who at that time decided to grab Jim's arm and roll his sleeve up. He once again flinched away.

"Alright, let's get some of that drug reversal stuff in him." Once again, he recognised that voice.  
Who was it?

A gentle hand touched his stomach.

 _"Let's make up for lost time, Jimmy, eh? Not long 'til your mother comes home."_

Jim, startled by the sudden return of Frank's voice, violently flinched away from the nurses' touch and accidently kicked her somewhere. He heard her hiss in pain for a second before the sound of a bottle smashing forced him into choking again.

 _Don't hit me. Don't hit me. Don't hit me. It hurts. It fucking hurts. It takes ages to heal._

"Jim? Jim, it's Bones. I need you to try to calm down, try to calm your breathing."

Bones. Bones here. That was reassuring, until Jim realised Frank was here too.  
He rolled his head from side to side, trying to find him but all that was there was a white mist. He had to warn him.

"Bones" Jim spluttered, then gasped again. "Frank. Frank, you need to go."

There was a long moment of silence, before,

"No, Jim, it's Bones. I need you to calm down."

Jim shook his head desperately, "Bones" he said instead, struggling to form words.  
Another long stretch of silence…

"Jim, can you look at me darlin'?"

 _"Strangle him, he's gonna hurt you."_

He dragged his eyes up to face his doctor, as blurry as he was.

"Bones..."

 _"He's a doctor. He's gonna hurt you."_

Bones leaned in closer, pressing two fingers to Jim's neck. It took everything Jim had in him not to flinch away at the touch.

"Heart's going wild, Chris can you comm sickbay, tell them I'm gonna need some assistance when I get there."

Jim shut his eyes.

"Yes, doctor."

The fingers left his neck and moved to his shoulder in what he supposed was a comforting gesture- but the back of his mind told him he was being pinned down.

"Jim, you need to calm your breathing or I'll have no choice but to sedate you, kid," Bones urged him gently, causing panic to flare up in his chest. McCoy seemed to immediately notice.

"It's alright, slow deep breathes for me," he murmured, fumbling through his medkit.

"He's going to rape you in your sleep, Jimmy, that's not fair. I want you more."

Jim let out a choked sob and started moaning like a terrified kitten.

McCoy glanced up to Jim's pale shivering form, and frowned in sympathy. Jim hated it.

"Jus' gonna give ya something to help calm you down," he explained, pulling a hypo out the bag and switching vials.

"Make a choice, Jimmy! Do you want me to have you or him?" Frank's voice sounded real, as if he were in the room with him.

Jim squirmed away from the hypo and let out quick alarmed moans in protest.

"Do you want your best friend to rape you?! That's fucked up!"

Jim inhaled, "Fi-Fi" _gasp_ "Fine! Fine! Fuck! Frank, you can do it, just m-make it quick!"

McCoy scowled, lowering the hypo for a second in concern, "Wha'dya mean, kiddo?"

"Good choice. Probably the only good choice you'll ever make. Now get him away from you, Jimmy."

Jim sucked in a shaky breath, "Bo...Bones, you-you need to le-le-le-" he gasped, "L-leave-" he didn't want to be alone with Frank. Not really.

"That's it, you pretty boy."

"Jim, what's going on?" McCoy said, while he lay a hand on his back, staring at his face intensely as if looking for something.

"Pretty?"

Frank never called him pretty. Well, except in situations he didn't want to think about.

Then, Jim completely dropped his walls, hating himself for it the second he did as he just burst into tears and started sobbing again.

"Fra-F-F-Frank wa-wants y-you to le-leave-" he choked out, his breathing completely hysterical.

"Alright, okay, hey, hey, hey, Jim-" McCoy gently lifted a hyperventilating Jim's chin up to face him, "There ain't no Frank in the room, kid, you're imagining this crap," he gestured around the room to make his point, "Jus' you, me, and Christine here."

Chapel offered a smile, still talking to sickbay and keeping them updated.

"Now, that's a nasty lookin' bruise you've got there," Bones gestured to Jim's hand, which was now coming up red and purple from ramming it into a wall. "You've got a mean lookin' bruise on your abdomen too, but one step at a time, yeah kid?"

Jim reluctantly nodded, hiding his hands away under his arms, then rolled onto his back, since his shoulders were aching from being on his side. But the doctor persisted, unfortunately for Jim.

"Can I take a look at that?"

Jim did not in fact want to even look at his hands himself—it was a reminder that he'd lost control.  
He shook his head, deciding to let it heal on its own.

"Wasn't exactly a question, Jim," McCoy brought out a hand, "Here, let me see."

Again, Jim shook his head. McCoy sighed, picking up the hypo that he'd stashed away earlier, "Lemme give you a painkiller at least."

Cautiously, Jim shuffled a tiny bit closer, finding the idea of pain relief agreeable. His knuckles hurt like a bitch.

Bones swiftly brought the hypo down to Jim's neck with practiced precision, then for some reason quickly stashed the spray away before holding Jim's shoulders firmly. The reason for that gesture became obvious when Jim literally felt the energy leave him, swaying and lulling forwards instantly. McCoy caught him, then lay him back on the ground.

"That wasn't a painkiller, was it?" Chapel asked knowingly, finding it slightly humorous that Jim didn't even see the trick coming.

"Obviously not, or I wouldn't be _this_ calm with him passing out on me, would I?" he bit back, fetching a scanner from the bag and hovering it over Jim.

"There's no internal injuries, not that this thing can pick up anyway," he murmured, then narrowed his eyes at a new reading. "Hang on, what the hell's this?"

On the scanner, there was a new unidentified chemical floating around Jim's abdomen. That didn't explain the bruising he found there earlier.

"Nurse, what do you make of that?" he asked, passing the scanner onto the nurse, then peeling back Jim's shirt.  
Sure enough, there were still purple bruises forming, in fact there seemed to be more than what he saw ten minutes ago.

Chapel glanced to Jim's abdomen too, grimacing at the injuries. They looked painful to touch.

"No idea…" she absentmindedly handed the scanner back to him, "Loose fluid?" she gently ran a finger across the bruise stretching across his stomach, frowning at the feel of it.

"I think it's spreading," McCoy heaved a sigh, taking the scanner back and shoving it into the bag, "It's much larger than the last time I saw it."

Chapel nodded, pulling Jim's shirt back down again, "Let's get him back to sickbay, doctor, we've a lot of work to do."


	4. Chapter 4

McCoy ran a hand over the mark over Jim's abdomen one more time before nodding to Chapel.

"He should be fine to move, just be careful," he said, running his hands under Jim's shoulders, noticing that some muscle mass was lost. He frowned, but decides it would be something to address later.

Chapel nodded her agreement on moving him and slipped her arms under his legs.

"On three," he murmured, "One...two... _three_ -" both of them hauled Jim up and onto the hover-bed. Chapel's expression was troubled the whole time.

"Something wrong, nurse?" McCoy asked, nodding at the doctors to move him.

"Yes, doctor..." she mumbled in thought, "It seems as though he's losing muscle mass. Under his legs at least."

McCoy sighed, "I know, it's something I have to address with him."

 _I swear to god if he's not eating…_

As the doctors carried him out on the hover-bed, McCoy caught movement from the blonde—only small twitches, while watching him.

"Bones…" murmured a voice from outside the door. One nurse leading the bed stopped and turned to look at McCoy for instructions.

He quickly strode up to them, gesturing for the doctors to drop the bed. They did.

"You're not supposed to be awake," he smirked, placing the back of his hand against Jim's forehead, "Good god man, you're a sauna!"

Kirk grimaced at the sudden loud noise from Bones' shouting and rolled his eyes upwards, trying to see where he was, and Jim instantly recognised what was happening. Two nurses were above him, and another one who stopped the movement was in front.

"Don't wanna be carried…" he muttered, trying to sit up now, "I can walk by myself…" he managed to sit upright before being manhandled down on his back by Bones.

 _Like hell you can._

"You're staying put on that hover-bed, I don't like your readings," he stated, gesturing the doctors to the door so they know to continue.

Jim let out a long groan.

"But I don't wanna be trapezed down the corridors! I'm supposed to be a role model… strong and…stuff…" he trailed off from exhaustion, letting his head fall back against the pillow.

"Uh huh. Look at ya, can't even keep your damn eyes open for more than a minute. Pick up the movement dammit, this isn't a taxi service!" the doctors hastily started walking faster, but only a few seconds passed before Jim's eyes shot open in awareness and the scanner in McCoy's pocket started vibrating for attention.  
He didn't need to check it to know what was happening.

"My god, Jim, calm down!" he worried, reaching for the med bag over his shoulder and desperately trying to open it while keeping up with the half-sprinting doctors at the same time.  
Jim flailed and tried to sit up again, then eventually managed to roll onto his side—too far.

 _Crash!_

The Captain was now on the floor, scrambling to get onto his knees before they could grab hold of him while he was at a disadvantage.

"Dammit, Jim! What the hell's the matter with you?" McCoy immediately knelt down, giving a quick examination with his eyes to see if he'd somehow broke a bone from falling off a bed that was two centimetres from the ground.

Jim managed to sit on his knees, like a kid waiting for story-time at school, "I don't want everyone to see me like this." He stated simply. He looked like a child, but sounded so solemn. "Please, let me walk the rest of the way."

McCoy's lips fell into a thin line, unsure of what to do in this situation. His doctor-instincts told him to shove him back on that hover-bed and run the rest of the way as it'll be quicker, but the other side of him wanted to let Kirk walk, knowing how difficult the kid would find it being so exposed in front of all his crew.

Finally, he settled with going half-way with him.

"Alright," he gazed down to the floor, biting his upper lip. Jim looked up hopefully at him. "You can walk, but we're going straight into a cubicle when we get there and no stupid games, got it?" he couldn't stop himself from smiling when Jim's face lit up for something as miniscule as this.

"Yeah, sure, thanks Bones," he hastily tried to get to his feet, but stumbled back onto his knees, then tried again, but froze when Bones put a hand on his knee to stop him,

"Easy, easy. Take it slow," he muttered, then turned to the doctors, who were looking extremely bored around the hover-bed. "Didn't ya hear me? You can go, the kid's walking."

What followed was some hasty rapid slurs of "Yes sir" and three people eagerly darting off down the corridor with an empty hoverbed.

McCoy set his gaze back over to Kirk, who was staring intensely at the floor as if willing his legs to work.

"Don't tell me we just got rid of the porters when you can't even walk?" he sighed, exasperated.  
Jim scoffed and placed a hand against the wall, his wrist shaking with the force of lifting his body up.

"I can walk, just… give me a second," Jim strained, pushing himself up with a loud " _uggggh!"_

McCoy shook his head, placing a hand on Jim's shoulder and tugging him along, "Come on kiddo, sooner we get there, sooner you can rest. We've got ten minutes of walking at least."  
Jim grunted under the strain and pulled himself along, and in his head willed himself with the words _one foot after the other._

 _….._

Three minutes later and Jim was half-way across the corridor, granted that if he left with the porters, he would be treated in a cubicle right now.  
But nope, his stubbornness meant that he was still limping down the corridor, much to McCoy's concern. He was eying him persistently.

"Your knee hurts?" he queried, taking out a medical scanner from the med-kit he was holding. Jim shrugged, obviously not wanting to admit it.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Jim mumbled, becoming frustrated with the incessant beeping from the scanner being hovered over him. If he wasn't struggling to keep his balance right now, the hand on the wall would instead be used to smack that scanner right out of his CMO's hand.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" McCoy teased, hiding the scanner away into his fist.

Jim scoffed, "Hell yeah I know that. When we gonna get there? Not that I'm thrilled to be there or anything, just, walking is kinda tiring."

McCoy offered a little smirk and rolled his eyes, "Nearly there kiddo."

As they continued walking, Bones noticed the scanner results were increasingly growing higher in numbers as the seconds went on. His heart rate had gone from 80 to 110 in less than ten seconds. Not to mention he'd gone completely silent.

In fact, upon closer inspection, Jim's eyes seemed to be travelling everywhere _but_ ahead of him.  
Frowning, McCoy gave a small tug to his arm, "Everything alright, Jim?"

It took a moment for the kid to process his words, but eventually he turned to look at him, then offered an obviously forced smile to his friend.  
"M'kay, Bones, just wanna get this over with."

He nodded and let it go, not wanting to push him further.

….

Sickbay was now in sight, and Jim's face was undoubtedly vacant in expression. He glanced down at his scanner.  
 _BPM 120._  
He bit his lip, then glanced to Jim, considering hypoing him into oblivion and calling another stretcher for the mere _minute_ that they had left to walk.

Another couple of steps…  
Then another…  
Then another…  
He checked the scanner again.  
 _BPM 135.  
_ A few more seconds passed.  
 _BPM 149  
_ Jim's breathing started to turn into panting, and it wasn't because of exhaustion. The look on his face made it obvious that he was trying to hide it.  
 _BPM 156  
BPM 169  
Shit._

"Jim—"  
Kirk instantly jerked away from McCoy at the word and rammed himself up against the wall, his eyes wide with fear, hyperventilating like hell gone loose.  
 _BPM 176_

"Hey, hey, hey, kid—"

"Bones—Bones—Bones—Bones—" Jim panted desperately, trying to form a sentence past the first word. McCoy tried to tug him away from the wall but he refused.

"Easy, calm down now, the hell's happened?" McCoy whipped a hypo out of his pocket and tried to bring it to Jim's neck.  
Keyword _tried._

"Fuck—get that shit away from—from me," Jim breathed, darting across the wall and past sickbay. What the hell caused this?

"What's wrong, kid? Is it sickbay? I know you hate the place but you've never acted like this before, I mean I can't really do anything about it but—"

"Bones—he won't get out my head—the—the—Frank, he's in—in—my head—Bones—"

McCoy took a large step forward and took a firm grasp of Jim's wrist.

Jim was staring absentmindedly into nothingness, heaving sharp breaths and trembling.

"Listen to me...Frank's not here, Jim." McCoy slowly coaxed him, as if speaking to a terrified animal, for all the good it would do.

Jim let out a heartbreaking sob that wrenched at McCoy's heart.

"But he's in my fucking head!" he choked, shrinking down the wall until he was huddled into his knees, "He's in my head..." Jim raised a hand to his hair and scrunched a fist into it, shaking tremendously.

Carefully, McCoy tread over, kneeling beside him and hoping not to startle him.

"How long has this been goin' on for?" he gently urged, taking out his PADD. He had a feeling it'd been a while, considering this wasn't the first time Jim had acted like this.

His suspicions were confirmed however;

"Ever since I got back from shore le-"

McCoy glanced up from mid-typing in the PADD at Jim's pause and waited patiently for him to continue.

But it didn't look like he was going to get a good answer any time soon.

Suddenly Jim screamed, "You're not fucking real!"

Bones put a hand on Jim's shoulder, trying to bring him comfort, "Hey, hey, just try to relax, you're gonna be okay,"

"Guughh..."

"C'mon, Jim, I can figure this out in sickbay."

But Jim shook his head.

"I can't go to sickbay...I have to stay here."

McCoy sighed, "Why?"

"If I move then Frank will come back."

"Jim, Frank ain't going nowhere, and to hell with him if he thinks he's stepping foot inside my sickbay."

Jim took a long hard look at McCoy, wanting to believe him; wanting to believe that he could get rid of Frank once and for all, but a voice in his head told him no.

"Bones..." Jim whispered, "I just...I can't..."

Bones looked him in the eye for a second, there was no doubt the blonde was god damn terrified. Who wouldn't be?

"Alright," he muttered under his breath, reaching into his pocket for a hypo. Jim caught on immediately.

"No no no no no no-" he backed away further, his breaths returning in short gasps.

McCoy's heart clenched, "Hey, it's okay, come here," he coaxed, sliding the hypo between his fingers, "Frank ain't got nothing on me."

Jim eyed the hypo as if it was his ultimate doom. Was he scared of the hypo or scared sleep would make him hear Frank?

He was cut out of his thoughts when Jim started gagging, following by vomiting over himself seconds later.

"Alright...okay..." McCoy shuffled closer, turning the kid onto his side, "Jus' try n' breathe real slow for me kid."

Jim simply whined, his eyes screwed shut as bile dribbled out the corner of his mouth. He didn't feel the sting of a hypo in his thigh, and allowed himself to give into the exhaustion he was suddenly feeling.

"Dammit..."

...

McCoy flew into sickbay, hands clenched so tight onto the rails to the hover-bed that his knuckles were white, and the porters who were _supposed_ to take the bed down themselves walked in five seconds afterwards.

Chapel darted out from an unknown cubicle to the left, grabbing the front of the bed and staring at the monitors that screamed a constant tone.

 _BPM 223 – Urgent assistance required._ flashed up on the monitor in red, regardless of Jim's unconscious state.

McCoy swung the bed around into the nearest cubicle there was, "We need to get him stabilised, damn idiot's gonna end up having a heart attack !" he announced, the hoverbed hitting against the wall, leaving only the wailing alarms as ambience instead of being drowned out by the hum from a hover-bed in motion.

As a flood of other medical staff began to surround them, McCoy read off from the monitor.  
 _Dammit._ "There's an increased respiratory rate, blood pressure and he's obviously tachicardic,"  
 _And if you didn't know that then get the hell out of my sickbay._

A doctor turned around to face him, "Should I bag him sir?"

McCoy nodded idly, "Yeah, yeah, if his resps get worse he might need ventilating." He managed to keep up a false façade of seeming in control and calm, which he certainly was _not_ on the inside.

He was about to grab his PADD to write some notes when he was called again,  
"Doctor?"

He glanced up from the PADD and found that Jim was starting to come around.

Again. Was it safe? He didn't have time to think it through properly before Jim realised where he was and started kicking viciously.

" _Get the hell away from me!"_ he screamed, throwing the mask off his face and trying to climb out the bed.

McCoy stepped closer to him, "Hey, Jim? Look at me kid, look at me—" the thrashing stopped for a second as Jim gazed up at him, breathing hysterically and making strange noises through the wheezing.

"You're in my sickbay, you understand? No-one here's gonna hurt ya, I'm right here,"

Jim shook his head, and resumed thrashing around on the bed. McCoy's face looked grim as he pulled a stool up next to him, sitting down and trying to calm the damn kid down so that the medical staff could actually _do something._

He sighed, "Alright, breathe in as slowly and deeply as you can, you hear me? Yeah? Jim? Breathe through your nose, real slowly now," he gave the kid a few seconds to adjust and attempt to correct the instruction, but after a few tries he started losing interest and tried to get out the bed again.

McCoy turned his attention to the nurse behind him, "This isn't working, forty milligrams of ketamine," he felt Jim tense up and grab onto his wrist.

" _No._ " he refused shakily, well aware that the drug was a powerful sedative.  
The last time Bones had used it on Jim was back at the Academy when he had a massive breakdown on the anniversary of Tarsus' first massacre. It was an event McCoy never wished to experience again, but lately Jim's behaviour had been even worse than back then.

Chapel put a hand on McCoy shoulder, "Would it be better if we used inhalational anaesthetic?"

McCoy shook his head, "No, stick with using it intravenously." It would be a lot quicker.

"I'll stay in bed, I swear!" Jim nearly shouted, trying his best to avoid being sedated. He hated being powerless, he hated people _doing_ things to him while he couldn't see, and he hated feeling vulnerable.

McCoy chose to ignore him this time, deciding the constant babying wasn't doing him any favours.

While a nurse stepped to Jim's side and started pushing the ketamine through his IV, McCoy pulled Chapel aside away from everyone to speak alone. Her gaze was serious and unyielding, much like the mask that Spock always held.

"Chris, there's something seriously wrong with the kid." McCoy exhaled, staring at her intensely, "Once he's stable I want him in the neuropsychiatric scanner."

Chapel blinked incredulously at him for a second, "We've never had to do that for anyone on this ship…shouldn't we try something else first? Rule out mental conditions?" she folded her arms together, more in a form of comfort than to appear commanding.

"That's what the scanner can do," McCoy told her a little more forcefully than he'd wanted.

Chapel was unphased. "And _that's_ why we have people with psychology degrees on board, like you."

McCoy grunted and turned on his heel to face Jim, who was now fast asleep thanks to him, and completely stable. A pang of guilt hit his stomach; perhaps he should've tried to be more patient instead of instantly sedating him.

"None of our lot has had to deal with anything like this before," he sighed, "Including me."

Chapel's voice fell to a harsh whisper, "That scanner is going to terrify him!"  
Which was likely to be true, Kirk struggles to even sit for 5 minutes in sickbay, let alone lay in a giant noisy scanner for a whole hour.

"I'll find a way to keep him calm, I'll get Spock there or something."

"He _can't_ be mind-melded with, you know that, it'll interfere with the results," Chapel urged, getting extremely frustrated now. She didn't know Kirk too well, but she was as protective of her patients as McCoy was—just a little more sympathetic.

"No, but I'm saying he can be there with him…" he paused, then turned to her and scowled, "I'm the CMO damn it, _don't question me_." and with a huff, he stormed back over to Jim side, reading the results for the fifth time, although already knowing he was stable. He knew Chapel was staring daggers into him from behind.

...

With his eyes relaxed and his expression soft, Jim remained awake, listening into conversations, enjoying the lack of medical interference. Except from the 'blood draw', whatever that was. He assumed it was to determine if he'd been poisoned.

It had fooled everyone so far, but his luck wasn't likely to last much longer.

Sometimes he heard Frank, telling him to do one thing or another, but he'd managed to keep himself calm enough to avoid attention.

Kirk took a gentle breath in, calming himself against the persistent alien voice.

 _Open your eyes, Kirk, let me see those baby blues._

 _So that you can watch me as I penetrate you._

His eyes shot open the same instant the monitors went wild—a persistent beeping that would drive a sane man nuts.

Hands latched onto his arms and his shoulders, and he tried desperately to shove them off, muttering words of comfort that his mind couldn't register.

Suddenly a larger hand pushed against his chest, affectively pinning him down on his back.

 _I can't wait to watch this, Jimmy. It's like watching myself._

Jim dug his palms into the mattress and screamed.

 _Yes! Yes! That's what I'm talking about, Jimmy! Scream all you like!_

He screamed until his throat was hoarse, until his ears were ringing, trying to drown the voice out.

Two hands cupped his head, words vibrated through him but he couldn't process what was said. One hand left him, followed swiftly by a burning sting to his thigh.

He kicked his legs as if trying to knock the pain away, but seconds later the fog began to clear, and the screaming came to a stop.

Opening his eyes, he saw Bones- not Frank, standing over him with a concerned look upon his face. He let his head sink into the pillows, sighing at the seriousness of the situation.

Bones' expression forced into a smile, "Not one for subtly, huh?"

Jim wanted to kick around in a fit of rage, he was growing so restless. "I just want this to stop, Bones," Kirk croaked, letting his eyes fall shut again.

"Is Frank is the room with us?" Bones asked, gently nudging him to get him to open his eyes.

And Jim obeyed, wearily cracking them open and scanning the room with anxiety sitting in the pit of his stomach.

"No" he replied in almost a whisper.

Bones nodded, then pressed a couple of buttons to raise the bed up into a partially reclined position without explanation.

He spun the stool away from him for a second, then returned with a ear thermometer, and stuck it in Jim's ear without hesitation.

He scowled at the CMO, "Booones, that's for babies!"

Bones scoffed under his breath, "Yeah, which is why I'm doing it with you."

"Don't you have those monitor thingies?" he sulked, glaring at his feet.

"Uh huh, but I'm just ruling out that this isn't a fever hallucination and the monitor just isn't reading your temperature properly," Bones explained, switching over arms to hold the device in Jim's ear.

Kirk continued to sulk in silence. He didn't feel hot at all, and he's had a fever before; this was nothing like it.

 _I remember when I used to gag you as a punishment, Jimmy. Oh, you were a pretty child._

Jim let out a shakily breath through his nose, gripping the handrails tighter in fear.

"Please, not now..." he muttered so quietly that it was a feat McCoy was able to hear him.

"What'd ya mean? Is this uncomfortable?" his expression were far gentler than he was used to. Perhaps the whole ordeal had scared him into having a good bedside manner.

Ha.

 _When I find you, I'm gonna fuck you so hard for running away from me._

A sharp inhale and a violent jerk.

"Hey, calm down, calm down, here I'm taking this out, see?" Bones removed the thermometer and almost looked disappointed at the results.

"Completely normal. Huh."

 _Here you are. Spread your legs for me._

Jim shot forward and vomited over himself.

"What the hell's the matter?" Bones leaned over to a trolley beside him and grabbed a basin, shoving it under Jim's chin, "Here now, what's-"

Jim gagged, then threw up again at the thought of Frank taking him.

"Bones-Bones I gotta...I gotta get out-"

"Alright, alright just relax, dammit..." he rolled out of his sight for a second, and Jim squeezed his hand around the railing as hard as possible, as if the pain was a distraction from Frank.

Bones returned with a hypo, grabbing his arm and was about to plunge it in, but Jim flinched away in time.

"Jim-"

"No, no hypo, just-no hypo...listen to me, Bones, listen...listen to me..." he rambled on, finding the talking was making Frank quieter.

"I'm listening." Bones replied firmly, lowering the hypo onto the tray next to him. Jim eyed it sceptically.

"Frank's here, okay? He's-he's found me, and he's talking to me, and-no no no, listen! No hypo! Listen...and we need to get everyone out of sickbay, okay? As discreetly as you can, just-just say the bridge needs them or something..."

Bones had his hand hovered over the hypo, debating whether to put Jim out of his misery or not.

He sighed. "Jim, you listen to me, kid, you're very very ill-"

"No! This is real, I know it is, I hear him, he-"

 _Jimm-yyy? Where are you Jimm-yyy?_ The voice sing-songed in his head.

"Jim?" Bones tried to get his attention back. Jim glazed his tired eyes over to Bones' face.

"We're gonna fix this, okay? I need you to come with me, can you stand? Nurse Chapel!"

...

McCoy subtly side-glanced Kirk with his hand hovered over a hypo, as the kid ranted on about how everyone needed to evacuate sickbay.

"Just-just say the bridge needs them or something…"

McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, and sighed. He needed to find the cause of this and fast.  
"Jim, you listen to me, kid, you're very very ill—" but was interrupted by more panicked ranting,

"No, this is real! I know it is, I hear him, he—" The kid suddenly trailed off and stared into the distance.

McCoy frowned, scooting closer, "Kid? Hey," he waved a hand in front of him but Kirk still seemed dazed. A list of symptoms sprawled through his head, absent seizures perhaps? "Jim?" 

Then the kid's blue eyes lit up in recognition and tried to find the location of his voice, slowly turning his gaze towards him.

Bones took a deep breath, deciding to go with what he had in store for him earlier.  
 _He's gonna hate me for this, but it's for your own good, kid._

"We're gonna fix this, okay? I need you to come with me, can you stand? Nurse Chapel!"

Jim blinked at him tiredly, but nodded. Chapel came up to McCoy from behind as he stood up from the stool.

"Doctor?"

"Yeah? Yeah. Help Jim to stand," he ordered, grabbing his PADD and the med-kit lying half open on the tray beside him, "He's going in that neuropsychiatric scanner, whether he likes it or not."

* * *

 _Ooh, so things are finally starting to go down! I can assure you that the title of the fic will start to make sense after a couple of chapters, we're getting to the mid-point, folks._


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: The next chapter is where thing start to really go down. You might start to realise by now that Jim is acting out of character- I'm doing this on purpose. If you have any suggestions of what you want this story to cover, leave a comment for me. I reply to all of them. Enjoy! :)**

Last time summery:

 _McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, and sighed. He needed to find the cause of this and fast._  
 _"Jim, you listen to me, kid, you're very very ill—" but was interrupted by more panicked ranting,_

 _"No, this is real! I know it is, I hear him, he—" The kid suddenly trailed off and stared into the distance._

 _McCoy frowned, scooting closer, "Kid? Hey," he waved a hand in front of him but Kirk still seemed dazed. A list of symptoms sprawled through his head, absent seizures perhaps? "Jim?"_

 _Then the kid's blue eyes lit up in recognition and tried to find the location of his voice, slowly turning his gaze towards him._

 _Bones took a deep breath, deciding to go with what he had in store for him earlier._  
 _He's gonna hate me for this, but it's for your own good, kid._

 _"We're gonna fix this, okay? I need you to come with me, can you stand? Nurse Chapel!"_

 _Jim blinked at him tiredly, but nodded. Chapel came up to McCoy from behind as he stood up from the stool._

 _"Doctor?"_

 _"Yeah? Yeah. Help Jim to stand," he ordered, grabbing his PADD and the med-kit lying half open on the tray beside him, "He's going in that neuropsychiatric scanner, whether he likes it or not."_

* * *

Jim ignored his legs trembling as he wobbled across the floor, his soles of his feet burning against the cold grounds of sickbay.

"Booones, where are we going?" he was following McCoy into another room, and nurse Chapel was catching up behind.

McCoy's worryingly silent reply sent anxiety crawling around in the pit of his stomach. It meant that Jim was being sent some place that McCoy couldn't find the words to describe, which didn't bode too well with the blonde's nervous stomach.

"Takin' ya some place where I can fix ya, alright?"

Uh oh. A pronounced accent meant he was stressed. This can't be good.

Bones tapped an authorisation key into a wall panel and the door swished open, the doctor pushing to get through first before Jim could beat him to it.

The lights were already on, and the whole room suddenly smelled worse than sickbay; the stench of sterile chemicals overwhelmed his senses.

Bones lay a supportive hand onto his shoulder as he took in his surroundings, expression so impassive that it'd make Spock proud.

He swallowed hard with difficulty.

"Bones, why am I here?" he whispered, catching sight of a gigantic machine at the back end of the room. In front of it was a chair- what looked like a dental chair, and it freaked Jim out.

"Relax, this will only take a couple of minutes." Bones encouraged, leading Chapel off to the side alone. There was hesitation in his voice that led Jim to believe that there was no way in hell that he'd be able to relax.

He forced himself to look back over at the machine; what was it, a scanner? There were tracks on the floor from under the machine leading up to the chair, making Jim realise that the chair must be pushed along the tracks and under the machine.

He screwed his fingers into a fist and hid them under his armpits. Nausea was clawing it's way up his throat and fighting for a way out.

Jim turned to find McCoy, somewhat comforted that he was still in the room, although was off to the side having a hushed conversation with Chapel.

No doubt scheming a way to put him in that chair, and shove him under that machine.

No way. Absolutely not. There must be something he could do to stop it... perhaps refuse consent?

Forcing it upon him would be malpractice, and Bones would never do that.

He was snapped out of his thoughts with a quick tap on his shoulder.

Bones was right in front of him, looking unnecessarily concerned as per usual.

"Huh. You zoned out on me there," he announced, tucking his scanner away- Jim didn't even know he had it.

God, the world was moving too fast.

"Come and take a seat over here," Bones offered nonchalantly, taking his forearm into a firm grasp.

Jim was led over to the chair, but the closer he got to it, the more his fight-or-flight instincts kicked in. His body twitched with adrenaline, only one though pulsing through his head:  
 _Get the fuck out of here._  
And he always trusted his instincts.

"So, ya won't be awa- Jim!" Bones leapt forward and grabbed a hold of Jim's arm as he bolted, yanking the man forward and almost sent him stumbling to the floor.

"Jim! Jim, calm down! Ji-good god, man!"

Jim continued pulling and tugging, trying to get away from the doctor and flee out the room. His heart raced in his chest, thumping away so hard he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He saw the world through a fish-eye lens, and everything was compressing down on him, squeezing his chest and making it difficult to breathe.

Two hands wrapped themselves around Jim's torso, grounding him, trying to get him to stop struggling.

He needed to get out the room.

His hands trembled, cold and sweaty, as he was gradually pushed into a sitting position.

"Breathe...breathe...real slowly..."

Jim squeezed his eyes shut and let out shuddering breaths, feeling the fight leave him as every second went by.

"There ya go. Speak to me, Jim." Bones was kneeling in front of him, making him seem remarkably small with Jim sitting on a chair.

He let in a shaky breath and spoke.

"I can't-I can't be here, Bones, I..." he fell silent for a few more seconds before finally opening his eyes. How pathetic he must sound. "Sorry..."

"It's fine. As I was saying before you bolted," he gave a mocking eyebrow, "You won't be aware of what's going on. Nor will you remember anything. I'll give ya a sedative that's gonna make ya feel real weird and you'll be absolutely fine."

Jim looked down at his fingers, noticing he was playing with them out of anxiety. He curled them into fists.

"Feel sick." he admitted, feeling his stomach rebel and his throat tighten up, as if bile was filling up his throat. He never admit weakness to anyone, he felt ridiculous.

"That's 'cause you're anxious, and I'm anxious to get it done with, here," Bones lifted a hypo within Jim's visual range to warn him in advance, "This'll help with the nausea," he explained, pressing his fingers on Jim's left forearm so he could see where to jab the hypo, and swiftly brought it down on his skin.

Jim jumped at the sting and tried to bat him away, but the hypo had already finished its goal.

"There ya go. Give that a couple of minutes. How you feelin' apart from that?"

Jim wrapped his arms around his stomach and glanced to the floor, not planning to reply.

He heard Bones sigh in front of him, then felt a hand on his knee, pushing down and raising the older man to a standing position.

"You hearing Frank?" Bones asks, presumably thinking that his silence meant he was hearing voices.

Jim shook his head.

"Alright, come shuffle back on the chair for me."

Jim glanced back up to Bones, confused with his request and turned around.

How can he shuffle back any further in the...Oh.

He was not seated on a stool or a normal waiting chair like he'd assumed, it was the chair that looked like it belonged in a dental office, and clearly the anti-nausea medication hasn't kicked in yet because he jerked forward and vomited over his front.

He panicked as Bones quickly approached him, "I don't wanna go in the machine!"

God, he sounded five, but he couldn't phrase his panicked words any differently.

"It's just a scanner Jim, that's all." Bones grabbed a stool this time and rolled over, wiping the blonde's mouth of the vomit without embarrassing him, thankfully. "Think of it like an MRI scan, remember how they used to do those in the 20th century? Well it's like that, but uh... twice the size."

Jim felt a shiver wrack his body, and he shook his head again.

Bones sighed, "Just shuffle all the way and lie back, I promise you're not going in that machine until you're properly sedated."

Jim swallowed what felt like a rock and obeyed.

He wriggled his way backwards and rested his back against the seat which fit perfectly around his body. He felt the rubber curve from the head-rest press around his cheeks, he smelt the disinfectant radiating from the chair.

Jim didn't have a chance to get used to the feeling before the front of the chair was being moved backwards, until Jim was laying flat out straight as if on a bed.

Bones wheeled up behind his head, immediately resting a hand on Jim's shoulder, which he didn't realise was trembling. Jim glanced up at his friend bending over him.

"Just try to relax, you're gonna be okay," he reassured, his gaze so intense that it was impossible to relax under the scrutiny.

"Nurse?"

Jim forgot Chapel was in the room.

"Yes, doctor." her voice grew clearer as she approached.

"Give him a shot of Midazolam, one milligram," he ordered, not taking his eyes off Jim.

The blonde however was staring at Chapel, "What's that for?" he asks, dreading the hypo before it was even ready. In fact, he couldn't even see the damn thing. He _wanted_ to see it.

Bones wheeled off to the side out of Jim's line of sight for a second and started fiddling with something. Jim didn't know what it was, for all he heard was clattering, switch-flicking and the sound of what he guessed was hissing air for a second before it was cut off.

He jumped when Chapel was suddenly visible in the corner of his eye.

"Just to make you all relaxed before we go ahead," Chapel answered his question from earlier, standing over Jim and gazing down at his face.

Jim's heart raced harder, "But doing what?" he pressed on, demanding a straight answer. He couldn't take his eyes off the hypo that was clenched in her fist.

It was stupid, at the back of his mind he knew it. But his brain refused to leave him alone.

Chapel stuck him with it without a second thought, paying no attention to the slight flinch she felt from him as her hand touched his arm. The stinging only lasted for a few seconds before melting away.

"Alright kiddo, let's see if we can't get figure out what's happened with ya," McCoy muttered from a distance, before he rolled up behind Jim's head and seemed to be observing it for something with the constant eying at his face.  
Finally, Bones seemed satisfied with whatever he was looking for, as seconds later he reached over the left, and returned with a mask.

Jim started fidgeting instantly.

"It's either six shots with a hypo every five minutes or this," he explained, reading the mortified expression upon Jim's face.

Before Jim had a chance to reply, Bones smothered him with the mask, and glanced over at Chapel with the universal expression for _I'm gonna need some help any second now._

He was right of course.

"No no no no no no" Jim's whines were muffled as he tried to reach for the hand that held the mask on his face, but the medication was working fast.

But he couldn't let this happen, he _needed_ to get away from here. He was too vulnerable.

Bones lifted his chin up to keep control over the mask.

Chapel appeared within his vision next, hovering a small scanner over his figure before showing the results to McCoy. He nodded his acknowledgement without taking his eyes away from Jim.

The blonde bucked and started slamming his head against the chair.

"Get this fucking thing off me!"

Bones gestured for Chapel to come over.

"No no no no no no no no" Jim squirmed around in the seat, and started coughing as hard as he could to reject the gas.

"Don't fight it, Jim, don't fight it, just calm down," Bones ushered from above him, watching Chapel come over and take a stool beside him. She reached over and clamped her hands on either side of Jim's head, keeping it in place so he couldn't keep fighting.

He began to feel lightweight and detached, as if he were floating. His vision swam and twisted, pulling the world so far away into a long tunnel.

He reached out and tried to find something to grab hold of, he was falling, falling, falling...but then he was okay. He stopped struggling and let it run it's course. All he knew was that he was floating, and everything was numb.

And that was okay. He relaxed. His eyes fluttered, he wanted to sleep...needed to sleep...so tired...

"Hey, no sleeping, kid," Bones' harsh voice was strange against the calm sensation he was feeling. He didn't open his eyes, and just slurred,

"Sleeeepy..."

"I know, but...need...'wake...done...'ight?...Jim...Ji...Chapel...reduce...'dication...Jim. Jim. Hey. Jim!"

He opened his eyes wearily, "Whaa?" He felt like he was in a state between wakefulness and dreaming.

"There ya are. You know, it's rude to fall asleep when people are talking."

Jim shut his eyes again, "Y'jus' reeeeaally boring, B'nes..."

Jim heard some shuffling and felt the chair readjust a little, slightly snapping the head of the chair down a bit more.

"He's fine, let's get it done with," he heard Bones say from the left of him, "Keep his vitals up on the first monitor all the time."

"Yes, doctor."

Jim heard the sound of beeps as the people around him interacted with a number pad. A few seconds later and a low wurring started up, getting louder and louder...louder...louder...

"Booones!" Jim whined in an almost-yell over the humming noise "Too loud!"

In reply he felt someone put their hand over his arm, squeezing it slightly as if for comfort. Which confused him because he didn't need comforting, the noise was just loud.

There was a sigh, "Okay. This bit might be uh... uncomfortable, Jim, so just hang in there."

Jim just shrugged and hummed to the same rhythm as the machine. He soon lost track of what it sounded like though as an even louder noise reverberated right next to his ears. A hand grasped his wrist, moving a thumb over his skin what he supposed was a soothing gesture.

Then out of nowhere a sharp pain above his ear, as something pierced his skin and sank deeper into his head. The buzzing and the horrible feeling of the object sinking deeper into his head continued for another ten seconds before it stopped, and the same thing happened on the other side of his head.

He jolted as another object pierced into his head and through muscle, past bone. He squeezed his eyes harder and let out a choked sob.

"I know, kid, I know," the hand resumed rubbing it's thumb over Jim's arm, "Just wait for it to do its job, you're doin' real good kiddo."

Jim let out a low moan as yet another one pierced through skin in the middle of his forehead, breaking its way through his skull until the feeling of a foreign object was painfully sitting in his brain.

"I wanna go..." he mumbled into the mask, fogging it up with each desperate heavy breath he took. The medication in the mask was doing its job; taking away what would probably be excruciating pain and keeping him relatively calm, but he wanted to run away.

"I know ya do, anyone would," there was a pause, and some mumbling from Chapel and Bones that Jim couldn't focus on.

The hand left Jim's arm, which created a pit of anxiety in his stomach. He heard the sound of stools wheeling across the room for a few seconds, which then stopped.

He felt alone, and he was scared. He couldn't move to see where Bones was as the thin sticks of metal currently shoved into his skull made him terrified to even twitch his head.

He let out a soft whine and dug his fingernails into his palms.

"I'm right here, Jim, just hold-Jesus H Christ!" Bones exclaimed from behind his head somewhere.

"Like I told you, that's probably been sitting in his brain the whole time." Chapel replied to him.

What was? What was in his brain!?

"Lemme get a...closer...look...good god. How the hell did that get there?"

"I don't know, but it's a chemical so it must have been produced somehow."

Jim fiddled with his fingers as they talked about his _brain_ behind him. He heard Bones scoff.

"That's definitely the reason for his behaviour. Only problem is, we need a sample to find a cure, and the chemical is so god damn deeply imbedded I ain't got any idea how to do it." McCoy was mumbling to himself.

"Now that you can't move, Jimmy, you're mine to play with as I please."

Hold on, that wasn't Bones...

Oh shit.

" _Stooop!"_ Jim cried out as Frank returned, and this time he was trapped.

"Christ, it's producing that chemical at three times the rate it was a second ago!"

"Stop hiding under that towl, Jimmy, I need you to suck me. Or do you want your ass to be beaten black and blue?"

" _Aaaghhhh!"_ Jim screamed as loud as he possibly could, drowning out Frank's voice, drowning out the machine's humming.

He screamed with such force the sound was distorted in his own ears.

Finally, he stopped, throwing himself into a coughing fit for a whole ten seconds straight.

"I said take the towl off, Jimmy."

Jim whined in fear and dragged the mask off his face.

"No-No, Jim, you keep that on." Bones was immediately by his side again, guiding the mask back over his face.

Jim sniffled, "I...I can't, Frank will punish me" he started to pull to mask away again, only to be stopped by McCoy's hand grasping his and setting it down on his lap.

"You've been such a good boy, Jimmy, I was thinking, maybe you want a reward? Come kneel on that table for me."

"I don't want a reward!" Jim screamed, kicking around on the seat. Several alarms started sounding as one of the instruments in his head got dislodged. There was an annoyed grunt from Bones before he began ordering to Chapel,

"Switch from Midazolam to seven milligrams of diazepam, put him under before he does even more damage to himself."

"But we can't get accurate results from the instruments if he's completely sedated, sir," Chapel intervened, watching Jim thrash and scream in the chair, and McCoy trying to stop it.

"I-fuck, Jim sit still, damn it! I know, we'll have to get a sample another da-Jim!"

Chapel quickly stopped the medication flowing and switched it to diazepam, then set the gas flowing again.

Feeling the effects setting in already, Jim made a last-ditch effort and offered a mighty kick, slamming his feet as hard as possible into Bones' chest, sending him flying across the room and knocking over trays and trolleys.

Wrenching the mask off, Jim rapidly rolled out of bed and hit the floor, grunting as he got to his knees. Now was his chance to escape.

Chapel darted over to McCoy, looking him over for injuries before she'd even knelt down, "Are you alright?" she didn't miss the fact that he was favouring his stomach.

"I'm-I'm fine, Chris, just-" he froze when he sat up and realised Kirk was missing from the chair.

"Shit, where's Jim?"

* * *

Ramming himself into a turbolift before the doors even finished opening, Kirk slammed his hand on the control panel.  
He saw McCoy striding down the corridor in a hurry, spotting Jim and breaking into a sprint.  
Kirk pressed the button to his quarters and rapidly hammered the 'close door' button repeatedly, hoping it'd shut in time.

As it swished shut, it was clear Kirk had escaped this time.

Until he heard yelling from outside the turbolift the second it slipped shut.

"Doors medical override! McCoy 7651!"

Two beeps from the console and the doors slid open again. Kirk didn't have time to think as McCoy rammed himself through the doors shouting, "Go to sickbay!" to Chapel and cornered Jim in the enclosed space.

The doors shut again.

Jim's heart thudded in his chest, ramming himself up against the curved wall, his hands trembling like no tomorrow.

"Get out." he warned, knowing full well McCoy couldn't walk out mid-flight.

McCoy approached him like a terrified animal, slowly taking steps towards the shuddering creature.

Jim's shaking grew violent, he stared down at his fingers with a sickening feeling rolling in his stomach.

"What's happening to my hands!?" he shrieked, watching them with terror as they cramped up and went rigid.

"It's a panic attack. Sit down, Jim." McCoy ordered with all seriousness.

There was nowhere to sit but the floor. His knees gave in and he slid against the wall to the floor, hugging his knees up to his chest and curling in on himself.

McCoy sat in front of him, waiting for the blonde to gather himself before doing anything else.  
He watched Kirk as he sucked in rapid breaths, tearing up and breaking down in front of him.

Under a fit of hyperventilating, Jim managed to croak out "I'm scared, Bones..."

Bones sighed, and spoke another order to the lift in case someone were to walk in.

"Computer, put turbolift in lock down, authorisation McCoy 7651."

"Lockdown confirmed."

Bones shuffled closer to the man, and when there was no rejection, he engulfed the kid in his embrace, trying to mutter reassurances while the blonde shook in his arms.

The shaking continued for another five minutes, but it felt like hours of waiting.

Eventually, Kirk lifted his head up to face Bones. He took that as his chance.

"Do y'know what's happening, Jim?"

Jim shook his head, his eyes still red with tears.

"Now ah...what we saw in your head, in your brain, uh, your body is producing chemicals, something affecting your cerebral cortex, and it's screwing with your judgement, your rationality. You're hallucinating but I'm sure you're already know that."

Jim remained silent, afraid that if he opened his mouth he'd start crying again. So he simply nodded and kept listening.

"We saw that the chemical was being produced at three times the rate it was before, and at the same time your hallucinations started again. Which would explain why you're having these episodes, but what I don't understand is _how_ it's producing it in the first place."

Another nod.

"You uh...you said you saw Frank before you left, and now all your hallucinations have been about him. Did he do something to you, apart from... you know..."

Jim ducked his head, knowing full well what he was getting at. He took a deep breath and tried to speak,

"I don't know"

"Did he inject you with something?"

"Can't remember."

"Jim, you need to be honest if I'm going to fix this..."

"I said I **_don't remember!_** " he bellowed in frustration. Then he took in the upset look on McCoy's face and sighed in defeat. "Sorry..."

Bones shook his head and gave Jim a pat on the knee, "C'mon, get up."

Jim slowly untied himself from his ball and got on his knees, then to his feet.

"I need to do a physical, so we'll walk down to sickbay."

Jim was sure that he was going to throw up the second those words left his mouth.

"Okay" he agreed silently, while internally thinking of an escape plan.

* * *

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Jim jumped out of skin at the sudden harsh voice. McCoy and he had been walking in silence for the past three minutes.

"What? What did I do?" he watched McCoy's face, dreading the look of anger-disappointment, but he looked just as surprised as Jim was.

"What'd you mean? I didn't say anything?" Bones queried, stopping still and grabbing Jim to steady him.

"You're useless like this. Get on your hands and knees. NOW!"

There. That's it. Those words _definitely_ came from Bones' mouth...but the voice wasn't his.

He shook his head and pressed his back against the wall.

"Hey, hey, why'd you look like I've just stabbed ya? What's wrong?" Bones' hands started flying over Jim's body for a potential illness or injury. Apart from the trembling, there was nothing.

"Never thought I'd say this Jimmy, but that gag in your mouth makes you look even prettier!"

"GET AWAY FROM ME!"

McCoy whipped his head behind to see people were looking now.

"Dammit...nosey bastards. Come on kid, to sickbay with you," McCoy grabbed Jim's forearm and tugged him, only for the blonde to remain frozen to the spot.

"Jim? C'mon, people are staring."

But Kirk was having none of it.

"Get _OFF_ me!" he struggled, bolting forward just to get his wrists grabbed and hauled back.

 _My god. What the hell's he thinkin' right now?_

"Fuck... _off!_ Get the fuck off me! Argh!"

Bones intertwined his hands with Jim's behind the kid's back, pulling as tightly as possible to stop him from running every time he yanked forward.

"Dammit, Jim, stop fighting me, please," McCoy murmured under his breath, struggling to keep his hold on him.

His request was forgotten however, as a foot suddenly stamped on his toes, and he automatically pulled away and hissed in pain.

Subconsciously he knew Jim had already took off down the corridor.

He swore to himself, both from the pain radiating in his toes and the fact Jim had gotten away from him. Which wasn't good.

At all.

McCoy swiped the communicator from his pocket and began taking large strides down the corridor.

"McCoy to bridge."

"Spock here."

"Spock, Jim's on the loose and is on a rampage. Not sure where he went so keep a look out," he flexed his toes while speaking. Damn, they still hurt.

There was silence on the other end and briefly McCoy wondered if he shouldn't've been so tight-lipped about what's going on. The first officer had absolutely no idea what was happening to his Captain past the hallucinations; plus he didn't know about the neuropsychiatric machine being used.

He mentally slapped himself for not informing Spock sooner.

"Where was he previously located?"

Now how the hell does a man explain that he shoved his best friend inside one of the most painful machines in modern medicine?

"He uh...was near sickbay," he decided to remain tight-lipped about it. It wasn't a lie, right?

"I see." Came the blunt reply. Did Spock know...?

"I will inform you if he is located. Spock out."

Well damn. A man knows when he's not wanted.

Taking an exhausted sigh, McCoy shook his head at the situation and turned on his heel, making his way back to sickbay, deciding not to chase the kid down further.

He'd be of better use treating people who actually wanted his help.


	6. Chapter 6

Jim sat alone in his quarters, contemplating how to deal with the situation he had been thrown into.

He had fled from sickbay, run away from McCoy and injured him while in his 'delusional' state of mind.  
Hearing Frank in his head was like a calling to his mind to detach itself from the world and act like a frightened caged animal. It felt ridiculous after recovering from it, it probably looked childish, and at this point he wouldn't surprised if his senior officers had contacted Starfleet and recommended his removal.

He already heard Spock and McCoy talk about it on his way to his quarters, while he was hiding around the corner and listening in.

The thought of that scared him. He pursed his lips together and held his breath, trying to hold back the impeding tears.

 _I should have never have gone on shore leave,_ he thought to himself.

"I'm lucky you did, or who would I have around to wash my car?"

Jim didn't even jump this time at the voice in his head.

"I didn't even wash it," Jim mumbled to thin air, "It was _my_ house."

This fucked-up mind of his was damn illogical. Or maybe he was getting confused. _Was_ it his house?

"Exactly, which is why you must be punished. Come on Jimmy, hands and knees."

Jim shrugged, not expecting anything else at this point. Would he get some relief if he did what Frank wanted for once? He thought about it for a bit.

"Get on your god damn hands and knees! I won't tell you again!"

Jim blinked tiredly, and sluggishly dragged himself onto his stomach. His brain was firing messages to his body to get on his knees, but there was no response from his numb and fatigued limbs.

" _Hands_. _And_. _Knees_."

"I'm trying!" he cried out in frustration, fiercely digging his fingers into the bed and trying to lift himself up. But his body betrayed him.

He felt too weak to move.

So, he just lay there on his stomach, his head twisted at an awkward angle, defeated.

 ** _SMASH!_**

"Hands and knees!" the furious voice topped the loud smash of an alcohol bottle hitting the wall.

Jim let out a strained cry into the blankets as he tried to obey the impatient voice in his head. But it wasn't letting up.

"I'll come over there and rip the fucking trousers off your backside myself if you don't move!"

"I can't! I can't move! I'm trying, please, just-just leave me alone!"

"Did you just tell me to, _heh_ ," there was a dark chuckle from the man, "To _leave you alone?"_

Jim screwed his eyes shut and sobbed into the blanket. He wanted out.

"I feed your disgusting mouth every damn day. I shouldn't do, the only thing your mouth is good for is sucking me for my entertainment."

Jim planted his face into the mattress, pressing his hands into his ears to block out the voice but it was no good. He whimpered pathetically.

"I _will_ find you, y'know. I'll get your filthy, gorgeous arse in the air and fuck you 'til you're unconscious. It'll make up for all the times you ran away from me."

Jim's hands went slack, giving up on trying to block out the sound. He lifted his heavy head, his nose feeling disgusting with snot and his eyes wet and stinging with tears.

He couldn't take this anymore. He couldn't. The relentless insulting and scary voice in his head, the constant fear of being assaulted.

He wanted it to stop. He felt numb.

Weakly, he pulled himself up into a sitting position, listening to every word Frank told him, "Oh, so _now_ you can move your legs? Lay the fuck back down you piece of shit."

He snivelled, then stood up, walking sluggishly over to a set of cabinets. He pulled the top draw open, and eyed the phaser that was lying in it. Just there. Staring him in the face. As if begging him to be used-no, insisting to be used.

He wasn't scared anymore. He wanted it to be over.

He watched himself pick up the weapon, as if seeing through someone else's eyes. It was all he knew, just him and the phaser.

"Do it, what are you, a wimp?" An icy laugh broke out into the room.

Jim's hands trembled as he reached for the phaser, his skin breaking out into a cold sweat.

Do it and this will all be over.

He lifted the phaser with a trembling arm, turning it towards him and almost dropped it with his sweaty hand.

Two words repeated itself over and over.

 _Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it._

He started to have second thoughts. No win scenarios? Was this finally a scenario he could not win?

"Wait, who will I have to amuse me if you're gone?"

The second those words vibrated through Jim's head, his fingers tugged deep into the pleading trigger and went wild on the phaser.

 ** _Bang!_**

 ** _Bang!_**

 ** _Bang!_**

 ** _Bang!_**

 ** _Bang!_**

He dropped to the floor instantly with a sickening thud.

...

"Have you attempted communication, Lieutenant?" Spock spun around in the Captain's chair to face Uhura.

They were trying to contact Starfleet. Not to kick him off the ship, no. In fact it was quite the opposite. They were asking for permission for him to stay.

"There's...no reply," Uhura announced slowly, twisting the transmitter in her ear. Then she added "Captain, I think we should warn him in advance."

Spock cocked his head to the side in thought, deciding over the best course of action.

Jim was very likely to react violently to being told that an admiral was going to speak to him about his mental state. He calculated a 97.6 percent chance in fact.

However, if he were warned in advance, that chance would decrease to 84.8 percent. Still extremely likely, but taking the action with less chance of a negative outcome was logical.

"We will inform the Captain..." he paused. That was incorrect, Kirk was pulled from position temporarily; Spock was in command, "We will inform Kirk of what has transpired here today."

Uhura seemed relieved, subtly exhaling a held breath, which wasn't missed by Spock's eye. It seemed Uhura too found Spock's decision agreeable.

So, Spock took out and flipped open his communicator.

"Spock to Kirk."

He awaited for the reply.

There was none. Perhaps he was not aware of the signal.

"Spock to Kirk, come in."

Still no reply. It was possible his communicator was off.

"I will have to-" Spock was cut off by the communicator chirping.

And that was it. No reply.

For a moment his impassive mask was dropped, showing visible concern before it was corrected again.

A strange feeling, what was it, anxiety? Began to pool around his stomach, and betray his Vulcan half.

Something was wrong.

He grabbed the communicator and saw that it was in contact with Kirk, only the blonde wasn't speaking.

"Jim?" he asked at a hushed volume.

A few moments passed, before a pitiful strained moan sounded through the speakers.

Uhura clenched her necklace in worry, gazing towards Spock for an explanation.

Not even a second passed afterwards before Spock shoved the communicator away and bolted to the turbo lift. "Mr Sulu you have the conn."

"Aye sir."

* * *

Spock sprinted down the corridors, that moan playing over and over again in his head. He tried to control it, but his rebelling emotions wouldn't listen.

He had to get to Kirk; a relentless feeling in his stomach tugged at his heart.

Something is wrong. _Something is wrong._

Spock didn't feel like he could run fast enough, even when straining his legs to push every stride further.

Finally, he arrived at the door to Kirk's quarters. Going by the moan, the chances that Jim will be able to command the door to open was less than 8.6 percent.

He tapped in the emergency override code that only he, Kirk and McCoy had access to, and slipped in sideways when the door slid further enough to fit his body in quicker at the new angle.

What he saw made him want to throw up. If he had less control over his body as he did now, he would have almost certainly done so.

Jim was lying completely bare on the floor, with large, thick, deep, black burn marks engulfing his chest and torso, and one single burn on his knee. The floor was coated in thick blood, most of it smeared all over his ribs and head.

A strangled moan cut him out of his thoughts.

Spock strode over, taking note of the phaser in Kirk's hand.

He swallowed thickly.

"Jim..."

But there was no time to waste. Running to sickbay with Jim would take less time than waiting for them to come here and bring him back.

Swiftly, he bent down and wrapped an arm around Jim's torso, lifting himself up and throwing Kirk over his shoulder.

The action produced a pained whimper that cut through that strong Vulcan heart of his.

"I apologise, Jim." he hushed, immediately turning to run out the door.

* * *

Upon entering sickbay, McCoy spotted the two men instantly, his face contorted with more emotion than Spock had ever seen.

He practically ran over to the Vulcan, trying to figure out what happened to Jim with the man slumped over Spock's shoulder.

"What the hell happened?!" he shouted, clamouring over to the nearest biobed and ripping back the curtains.

"There appears to be multiple phasers shots over Jim's body."

McCoy grunted and helped Spock deliver Jim onto the bed, all the monitors bursting to life and began screaming for attention.

"What son of a bitch got him?" he had a sinking feeling that it was Frank, that Jim had been right the whole time.

Spock just gave McCoy _the look_ and took a phaser out of his pocket, the metal now stained with blood. Blood that belonged to Jim.  
Instantly the doctor knew what he was getting at.

"You have got to be kidding me." he went a shade of pale lighter than Kirk. "Are these self-inflicted?"

Spock glanced over to Jim's body in thought. He watched McCoy repeatedly stab Jim with hypos, and finally a pained whimper broke through the hissing noise of the hypo release.

The doctor froze.

"Oh shit, you're awake?" he exclaimed in surprise, immediately fetching a sedative.

Before he could even look at one, the main monitor let out a high pitched tone as Jim's heartrate went flat.

"Shit, he's lost too much blood," he muttered, glancing at the flashing alert on screen, "There's...there's too much internal damage."

He called out to the staff remaining in the room, "I'm gonna need assistance in the first OR, gather a team! _NOW_!"

A bundle of medical staff suddenly huddled together and clustered into the OR.

McCoy turned to Spock, "Get his ass to the OR, haven't got time to wheel him around."

Spock nodded, hauling Jim over his shoulder once again and joining the crowd of staff to get into the operating room.

* * *

Kirk was laid out on the table as quickly as possible, McCoy getting ready faster than he'd ever done for any patient ever.

He called out to the staff attending Jim while Chapel was behind him, helping him put on the surgical scrubs while he scanned over Jim's body.

"Massive trauma and extensive internal bleeding around major organs—" he suddenly paused and glanced down at the rapid beeping from the tricorder, "Fibular artery has been torn through, we need to save his leg. Put up three units of o-neg, and for the love of god be careful what you inject him with."

In the meantime a nurse stood beside Jim giving him chest compressions until the CMO was ready. Two more doctors were at Kirk's side, running regenerators over the wounds that could be healed. Something, anything to make the bleeding less severe.

Anything was better than this.

"Nothing?" He'd asked, looking up at the wailing monitors having nothing to pick up on. The nurse shook her head.

"No sir, recommend shocking him."

He nodded, pushing away the desperate panicking feeling that was trying to make its way into his gut. "Put him on O2 as well."

Another doctor raced up behind Jim and pressed a respirator over his mouth and nose.

"C'mon, kid, C'mon..."

He turned to the window, noticing Spock was standing there and looking pretty damn emotional.

 _Christ..._

Dragging his eyes back to Jim, he witnessed his friend being shocked for the second time.

The machine grew higher in pitch and suddenly his body jerked off the table and back down again with a bang.

"Still no effort, sir," came the dreaded announcement a moment later.

 _Shit._

"Ventilate him, I'll have to open him up-lord knows I didn't want to do this...I'm gonna do a thoracotomy"

A nurse came up behind Jim and began to intubate him, meanwhile McCoy grabbed a laser scalpel and brought it to Jim's chest.

 _Beep._

The sharp edge pressed hard enough against the skin to cause a bleed, and McCoy froze before he could get any further.

 _Beep._

"Come on, dammit..." he urged the monitors, staring at them willingly.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

"There's a steady output, but he's still not attempting to breath on his own."

McCoy let out a huge sigh of relief.

Oh god. _Thank god._

That was half the battle. He placed the scalpel in a sterilising tray.

"Alright uh, keep intubating him. I still need to operate though, there's a lot of damage."

There was a grunt of acknowledgement and the doctor continued intubating Jim.

From behind the window, Spock had visibly relaxed a tiny bit, although still had fierceness in his eyes.

God. _God_. This poor god damn kid. What did he do to deserve the shit he's been through these past few weeks? And shit, not to mention the fact that he tried to _kill himself.  
Mr no-win scenario my ass._

He knew what that meant. He didn't want to think about it, but he knew what protocol had to be put in place for a crew member attempting to take their life.

Not to mention it was the _Captain_.

"That's all fine. We need another unit of blood. We need to save his leg. Sir?" He was brought out of his haze by the doctor finishing up the intubation.

He glanced up at the monitor, reading off the results. Respiration and heart rate were relatively back to normal, although he was still losing too much blood. There was no way he'd be able to operate like this; the kid would die on his table in minutes.

"Make that five units, just in case," he ordered, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. The damn room was spinning.

"Sir, are you OK?" he heard someone ask after a moment. His eyes flew open.

"What? Yeah yeah," he waved them off, watching another doctor run a regenerator over Jim's knee, healing as much as they possibly could, regardless of the fact an artery had been cut.

He just realised Jim wouldn't be able to walk for a while, not after all of this.

 _Damn it. But he wouldn't be able to anyway. Not if I..._

He dragged his mind away and focused on the world again, lifting a hand to grab a scalpel. He was aware of everyone watching him with concern as his fingers shook with anxiety.

 _Come on. You're the CMO, damn it, act like one._

"Do you want me to take over, doctor?" he heard Chapel offer. And lord, it was so tempting. He wanted desperately to run out and drink booze for an hour, but Jim was his responsibility.

 _You can do this, damn it. Do it for Jim._

...

McCoy sluggishly walked out of the OR two hours later, slumping onto a waiting chair with his head in his hands.

The surgery had been successful, he just dreaded what he had to do next.

"How is he, doctor?"

He jumped.

Shit! He forgot Spock was waiting behind the window.

"He's-He's fine, Spock," he heaved a sigh, "At least physically."

Mentally there's a lot of work to do.

Now there's a protocol he had to put in place before Starfleet got here.

"Look, Spock..." he sighed, Spock's left eyebrow rising. "There's something we have to do since Jim tried to harm himself-ah..." he rubbed the back of his neck and tried to word it nicely.

 _This is never gonna go down well anyway so spit it out._

"See, protocol states we have to keep him away from people, keep him away from himself if possible. Put him in a room, keep him drugged and make sure he can't move to injure himself..." he paused, realising again how much he didn't want to do this..."But for once I agree with protocol. He...he tried to kill himself, Spock, and it almost worked. It _would_ have worked if you hadn't thought to check on him."

Spock's eyes were analysing him up and down, running through a million thoughts most likely, trying to process it.

"In essence, you will be sectioning him."

McCoy crossed his arms and sighed, licking his cracked lips, "Yeah, suppose so."

In reply, there was only a subtle nod from the Vulcan.

Spock took that strangely well.

"I do not believe this is the correct course of action."

 _Or not._

"Look, Spock, I can't let him skip off free, not after today," he tried to explain, "Protocol or not, he's staying room-bound until I figure out a way to deal with this."

Spock merely stared at him.

"God," McCoy scoffed and walk away, shaking his head and pushing off the building anxiety in his stomach. He was going to have to keep Jim locked in a room and most likely strapped to the bed.

Or sedated.

Either way, his options were fucked and he didn't want to do either of them.

 _Damn it._

His heart ached for the kid, he wished he could do more. But he didn't understand where the chemicals were being produced from; what test could he possibly run?

 _A neurotransmitter test would only show what I already know. There's a chemical being produced._ _But where the **hell** is it coming from?_

Kirk was still in recovery, healing from his self-inflicted wounds. Even the idea that Jim had done this to himself hurt the doctor, though hell would freeze over before he admits it.

 _I'm gonna do everything in my god damned power to cure Jim. Even if it means I don't get no sleep for weeks._

Just as Spock was about to open his mouth with a new profound retort, there was a strangled groan from the next room.

McCoy got there first.

"Jim." McCoy announced his presence, realising he'd have to find a way to tell him about what was going to happen.

Perhaps later.

"Hmmmmm..." Jim hummed to himself in his half-delirious state. McCoy took a seat next to him, waving a pen light in his eye.

His pupils were hardly responding.

 _Shit._

"You with me, Jim?"

"Hmmmm..."

Well, that doesn't mean anything. McCoy slipped his hand in Jim's.

"Squeeze my hand if you can hear me?"

There was a weak attempt at a squeeze, but enough for McCoy to know it wasn't a muscle twitch.

He wasn't too surprised at his state; he was drugged off the wazoo and still coming out of the anaesthesia.

"You in any pain?"

A short pause occurred, before a quiet "Mmm..."

He picked up a hypo, "Where's it hurt?"

Jim scrunched his face up as if in deep thought, before relaxing and saying "Dunno..."

Frowning, McCoy assumed the pain would be coming from the incision site and pressed the hypo to Jim's stomach...then changed his mind, swapping the vials over for a general pain reliever rather than a local one which would only affect his stomach.

He had operated on his knee as well; managing to save it just by the skin of his teeth. That was bound to hurt too.

The kid was white as a sheet, deep blue rings under his eyes from exhaustion. Most of his skin was lined with sweat from constantly perspiring.

He looked like death warmed over.

"B'ness..." Jim muttered his chosen nickname for McCoy under his breath.

"Right here, Jim."

"B'ness...!" he coo'd in a sing-song tone, as if having something exciting to share.

Bones wheeled in closer and pressed a thumb on Jim's eyelid, pulling it back and grabbing the pen light from his pocket, waving it in his eye again.

Slowly, sluggishly, but eventually, Jim's pupil responded to the light and shrunk.

 _Thank god,_ he thought, doing the same to the other eye.

He decides to keep Jim talking, "Uh huh?"

Jim fidgets a little, showing he was starting to become more aware, before answering McCoy's question.

"Sleepy..." he murmurs, trying to shut his eyes if it wasn't for McCoy still yanking them open.

"Yeah?" the doctor replies, satisfied that there was no damage and slipping the pen light away, leaning back again, watching Jim squirm and try to gather his thoughts.

After a minute, Jim's face morphed into an expression of panic, beginning to remember what had happened only hours before.

"Bones…" he rasps, having nothing more to say but wanting his friend nearby.

"I'm right here kid, you're gonna be okay," he reassures, if only for himself.

His eyes automatically glance up to the monitors as his mind subconsciously notices the increasing beeps of Jim's heart rate. He was fidgeting and squirming in fright.

"What the hell did I do!" Jim cries out in a panic, clawing at the mattress in frustration.

"Relax, try to keep your breathing calm for me."

But that was no use.

"What about my leg!" Jim almost screams in hysteria. He can't command a starship if his leg was amputated from shooting it.

Not that having no leg was the problem here.

"Your leg is fine," McCoy ushers, reaching for a sedative, "It's gonna take some time to heal, but I've saved it." _And you're god damn lucky I did._

But Jim wasn't listening. His eyes were fixated on the hypo in the doctor's hand, slamming his body against the bed as if he could phase through it and disappear.

His breathing was going nuts.

"No hypo!" Jim yelled, trying to inch even further away as McCoy approached him.

Bones clenched the hypo tighter and blew out a breath.

I can't let you panic like this, damn it...

"Please!" Jim begged frantically, "No hypos!"

McCoy threw his hands up, "Okay! No hypos!" he exclaimed, placing the one he held on a nearby tray. "No hypos, see?"  
Jim started to settle down at that, the thrashing slowing back down to fidgeting and shifting in the bio-bed.

If he could just keep Kirk distracted long enough...

"We'll get you outta here soon, Jim." he stood up and started replenishing the IV units, hoping the blonde would get bored of watching him and look at something else.

"I know you don't like sickbay, but hell if there was anything I was supposed to have done about it, I would've, y'know? But your damn ass woke up too early."

Jim was still looking at him.

 _Look out the window, damn it!_

Then Jim sighed, visibly relaxing his muscles and resting his head into the pillows.

"It's easier when you're here..." he murmured under his breath.

Damn.

"Well look at you, gettin' all sentimental."

"I mean it, Bones! Why do you think you're my doctor?"

Bones scoffed, taking small circling steps to the tray with a stray hypo in it.

"Uh, maybe 'cause you gave me no other choice? I'm not having no damn irresponsible quack look after ya. Bet they can't remember three of your allergies."

Jim chuckled to himself and shut his eyes.

 _Perfect._

"I trust you, Bones. I'm glad you're my doctor. Or I would have run a mile by now."

Bones felt a pit of despair form in his stomach.

 _My god. I'm so sorry_. He thought sadly, eying the hypo that was now in his hand. _I've got to do this. It's too damn dangerous to leave you awake in the open like this._

 _You're a ticking time-bomb, kid._

"You'll fix whatever's wrong with me and I'll get back on the bridge in no time..." Jim was smiling to himself, seemingly in a world of his own.

 _I'm so sorry that that isn't going to happen._

As Jim turned onto his side to get more comfortable, McCoy took his chance and strode forward, gripping Jim's arm in a tight squeeze and lowered the hypo down.

But before it could manage to hit its target-

 ** _WHAM!_**

Kirk flipped over, effectively startling McCoy and making him hesitate. Jim shot forward and rammed his fists into McCoy's chest, sending him flying backwards with a pained grunt, hypos and trays of instruments spinning across the floor. A scalpel scratched the edge of the bed metal.

As the doctor gathered his bearings, Jim suddenly jumped on top of him and started attacking like a wild animal hunting for flesh.

"Fuck!" McCoy yelped, trying and failing to avoid Jim's rabid punches, "Shit! Jim! Calm down, man!"

"Fuck you!" Jim practically screamed with venom, backhanding the doctor across the face. He whipped his head back to Jim, and what he saw in Jim's eyes was frightening.

Nothing.

 _Nothing._

There was no recognition, no idea that the man Jim was just thanking and showering with praises, was now being attacked on the ground ten seconds later.

As McCoy leapt forward and rolled out the way, Jim shakily got to his feet and threw himself on Bones with a hoarse scream.

"Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck-fuck-fuck!" fists pummelled on Bones' face, and it took every ounce of him not to cry out.

For a brief moment, Jim stopped attacking and let himself fall to the ground in a heap, panting and trying to get his breath back, still growling and ready to pounce again any second.

At this, Bones immediately took his chance and pushed past the pain, lunging over and taking Jim's wrists into a rough grip and pulling his arms behind his back, attempting to restrain him.

Jim struggled and kicked, "Get... the fuck...off me!"

"Calm down...calm down..." he urged gently, keeping his hold on Jim for as long as his strength would let him.

"Gaah! _Raaarrgh!"_

Kirk shoved himself backwards with all his might, forcing he and McCoy to topple onto each other.

Then, quicker than human reflex speeds should be possible, Jim flipped his body over and grabbed McCoy into a choke hold, squeezing as hard as possible and growling through clenched teeth.

The CMO's eyes bulged as he struggled for air, desperately smacking his hands around trying to get Jim off him.

Finally, his fist collided with Jim's jaw, and simultaneously a pang of guilt hit his stomach as his friend yelped and cradled his face.

McCoy sucked in the much-needed air and tried to refocus his eyes.

The fire in Jim's eyes only grew more furious, as he grabbed the first thing within reach—a scalpel, and started lunging after McCoy, practically seething with rage and spitting curses.

He dodged three times, before a forth strike slashed the side of his face. With a sharp inhale, he rolled onto his knees and tried to crawl away.

 _SLASH!_

Another attack just missed him.

" ** _CHRIS!"_** Bones almost screamed into the distance, hoping it was enough to reach Chapel.

THUD.

Jim had thumped a fist against the back of McCoy's neck, sending him suddenly forcefully shoved face first to the ground with a loud _smack_.

He groaned, his vision spinning with his cheek pressed against the cold tiles.

Vaguely, he could feel Jim hammering what was probably his heel into his side, before a harsh screech and loud protests were bellowed behind him. He heard a female voice, it was soothing and reassuring against the terrified screaming from his friend, but the noise faded and grew quiet, until only the female voice remained.

He knew his own breathing was laboured, and began to wonder where Jim had hit him. His hip for sure was hurting, and he'd obviously at least bruised his legs.

Then, a figure dragged him out of his thoughts as they knelt beside him, placing a hand on his head that grounded him.

"Doctor? Where did he attack you?"

The image before him wasn't focusing, but he could tell from the voice it was Chapel.

 _She did hear me then._

"Dunno...Jim?"

There was a small chuckle. Why the hell was she laughing?

"I'm talking about you right now."

McCoy groaned outwardly, "Where's Jim?"

"Don't worry, we have him sedated and restrained. Let's look after you now."

Damn it. The only thing worse than having Jim as a patient was being the patient himself.

"Am fine, Chris..." then he suddenly cringed at the pain radiating in his leg, "Ah god...my god damned...leg..."

"Yeah, there's a scalpel in your leg."

McCoy's head shot up, "What?"

How the hell did Jim manage that?

"He stabbed you, I think. It's not hit any arteries though, so hold on while I get you up."

Shit. Jim had stabbed him. Threw him onto the floor, choked him, slashed his cheek with a scalpel and then stabbed him with it.

He shut his eyes in exasperation.

"What the hell happened, Chris?" he let out a resigned sigh, shifting himself a little but regretting it when his leg protested.

"We're gonna put him in a secure place, like we said. We'll figure out what happened, don't worry," she offered a sincere smile.

McCoy regret that couldn't offer one back.

...

It was cold. And quiet. Too quiet. He could feel the hair on his arms stand on end, the icy temperature nibbling at his skin, goosebumps running up and down his arms.

The only place that wasn't cold was his back- in fact that was all nice and warm against something soft and cozy.

He needed to warm himself up.

Deciding to rub his arms, Jim lifted both hands together.

Or so he tried. He couldn't feel his arms. Or his legs for that matter.

In muted alarm, Jim forced open his heavy eyelids, seeing nothing but a blank white ceiling above him. He tried to move his head to see where he was.

He couldn't.

Anxiety and panic swished around in his stomach.

Where was he? How did he get here?

He let out a sob and shut his eyes again. His body burnt with the desire to tremble in fear, but he couldn't move.

He let out a few shaky breaths, tears stinging his eyes,

"Bones?" he croaked out in a pathetic childish way.

No answer.

He was alone.

He sniffed, feeling a stray warm tear run down the side of his face. The fact that he couldn't 'man up' and fight his way out of this, hell, think with _logic_ scared him even more. He was paralysed to a bed having no idea where he was, and was terrified.

Blinking away the tears, Jim tried to look down at his body, trying his best to see what was going on, but he was probably in a "T" position because he couldn't see any part of his body at all.

Then, a sound.

 _Whoosh._

 _Whoosh._

Step. Step. Step.

The room fell quiet again. Was someone here?

Terrified and unable to do anything, Jim squeezed his eyes shut and started sobbing to himself, his eyes burning with the water pooling around with no easy way to escape.

"Oh, god, darlin' I'm so sorry, I was supposed to be here, damn it..."

A few rapid rises and falls of shoes hitting the ground and someone in blue-Bones, came into view above him. There was a small red mark on his left cheek. What happened?

"Bones?" Jim choked out through his wracking sobs, his fingers were shaking—they were the only thing he could feel, "What's happened to me? Why can't I feel anything?"

McCoy's face morphed into an expression of deep worry, his eyebrows drawn together in concern.

"Do you remember anything? What's the last thing you remember?" he coaxed gently, reaching to the side to grab what Jim guessed was tissues-yes, and began wiping Jim's face dry.

Jim let out a shaky exhale, "I was in bed. I don't know. You were there. I don't remember," then he paused, his eyes darting around the room, "Am I dreaming? Sometimes when I dream I can't move."

McCoy sighed and gave him a sad smile, "No kid, this is real life, but I wish it wasn't." Bones went out of his vision for a second to dispose of the tissues before returning again.

"I can't move my head" Jim was beginning to hyperventilate now, "I'm scared, Bones..."

There was a small smile forming on his doctor's face, "He really did a number on ya for you to start admitting you feel like shit, huh." Then he heard the sound of stool wheels being rolled up, Bones sitting down next to him.

"You're okay, Jim, you're not paralysed or anything," Bones rubbed a thumb over Jim's palm.

Jim's eyes were still laced with panic, his breaths coming in uneven gasps, "But I can't move my head!"

"Alright, alright, slow down, I guess this should be okay..." Bones mumbled and leaned over him, his arms now covering Jim's head.

He heard the sound of loud beeps beside his ears, the noise vibrating from how close it was.

Then a decompression noise, and a large metal curved looking thing released itself from Jim's forehead and mechanically opened up until it was left dangling on the other side. He didn't even know it was there.

"Give it a moment," Bones ushered, removing his arms from Jim's head and watching him carefully.

Then, a strange feeling swept through his face. Ultimately, sensation returned to his head and was able to move it.

He lifted his head up, still albeit restricted from his chest not moving, but what he saw unleashed another sob through his lungs.

He was completely restrained to a bed, in a completely empty white room with nothing in it but the main equipment attached to Jim's bed. There was no window, no decoration, nothing.

As he had guessed, his arms were splayed out in a "T" shape, with huge cube-looking things clamped over his ankles, knees, wrists, elbows, shoulders, waist and chest. There were luminous blue lights seeping out from each of them, making him realise that these were what was causing his complete loss of sensation in every limb.

"I know, I know," Bones hushed, gently pressing Jim's head back down to the pillow to stop him from looking and scaring himself more.

Jim was practically unable to form a single word through his gasping.

"Bo-Bo-Bo-Bo-Bo-"

"Shh. You're okay. Do you understand what's going on?"

Jim instantly shook his now moveable head.

"Okay…" Bones stood up out of his seat, ready to go over all the events of today, "So about six hours ago, you came out of surgery. You remember that? …No? Okay, well do you remember why you were in surgery? …No? You can speak if you want, Jim—"

"I don't wanna speak" Jim protested, his voice shaky and weak.

McCoy sighed, "Yeah, well you harmed yourself. Badly. You tried to kill yourself with a phaser."  
He narrowed his eyes at Jim's expression.  
"Don't look at me like that, Jim. You were brought into my OR with a leg that was _nearly_ severed, there were burn marks all over your body, you'd lost so much blood that your heart stopped and you flat-lined. You were clinically dead for three minutes before it started beating on its own again. I was about to open you up, you know that? Open heart surgery, Jim, that shit hasn't been done seriously since the 21st century!"

Jim squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to calm his breathing, McCoy's rant just now was seeping into every fibre of his being.

He had no memory of any of this.

"Anyway, after you came out and woke up, you attacked me. You see this, under my eye? You slashed my cheekbone with a scalpel." He felt his anger steadily building now. He knew it wasn't Jim's fault, but god, the shit he's had to do… "That was before you threw me across the room and had me in a choke hold. Then you proceeded to stab _my_ leg with a scalpel, luckily for me it actually _missed_ the arteries, before being dragged away screaming by Chapel who fucking restrained and sedated your backside. Do you understand now!?"

He hated himself for lashing out at Jim. It was absolutely _not_ his fault, there was something going on inside his brain and he didn't know what it was. He was deteriorating every day now to the point where it wasn't safe for him to be around himself anymore.

Jim was in tears.

"I tried everything I could before we resorted to this, Jim. Hell, I opted to have you sedated until we could figure out a cure. In fact, we did for a while, after your surgery. But the prolonged sedation from both the surgery and afterwards tripled the rate the chemicals were being produced so we let you come out of it… and we think that's why you suddenly lashed out like you did at me. God knows that behaviour could have been permanent if I let you stay under."

Jim licked his chapped lips, trying to break through the sobs escaping from his lips but couldn't find words. Tears were constantly streaming down his face. The kid was shaken and probably about to go into shock if he didn't shut up.

"Hey," McCoy sat back down and took Jim's hand into his, gently rubbing a thumb across the back of his hand. The kid's eyes looked up to meet his. "I'm sorry," he sighed, "It's not your fault. I've just… you're not the only one suffering, you understand that?"

There was a sniff and a subtle nod in reply.

"I do have some ideas of what we can do to find out where those chemicals are being produced, but it's not going to be pleasant." Bones explained gently, "In the meantime I have a special medication running through this IV line to you," he gestured to the IV pole that was behind him, but of course Jim couldn't twist at all so didn't attempt to look at it much further than a head turn.

"What is it?" Jim rasped, feeling his eyelids growing heavy. He had a sneaking suspicion that he already knew what it was.

"It's a concoction that should hopefully keep your uh… lashing-out under control. Plus, a sedative. Which is why you feel like you're about to fall asleep. It's just pumped the next set through now."

Jim nodded weakly, very open to the idea of sleeping all of a sudden.

"But… if that… keeps… under control… then why…" he drew in a breath, desperately trying to stay awake to finish his sentence, "Why… why am I still here… in this room… for my protection… if I'm not—"

"Let me stop you there," McCoy interrupted, "That IV has been in you for one hour. It could stop working today, it could stop working next year, but we need to be sure it's going to work in the long-term before I can release you from here." He explained carefully, "I don't want you being on an away mission and then suddenly beating the shit out of a creepy innocent alien and starting an all-out war because the medication stopped working" he threw his hands in the air to exaggerate.

Jim smiled and nodded, giving up on all coherent thought now.

"Kay…"

Jim's eyes fluttered shut, the rapid heart-rate slowing down to a decent sensible resting rate as he slipped into unconsciousness.

McCoy gently brushed some excess hair out of Jim's face, and gave him a comforting light squeeze on the shoulder.

He had his first appointment with a neurologist tomorrow. He just hoped that it would go well….

….

 **A/N: So finally, Jim has been sectioned! Not that this is a good thing… of course…**  
 **Next chapter we get some REAL Frank, and let me warn you now it's going to be very very dark, and will contain some torture that's sexual in nature. So be warned if that kinda stuff irks you. Can you guess how he finds his way back onto the ship?**


	7. Chapter 7

**WARNING: Some graphic descriptions here, including torture, a lot of suggestive material and potential (but doesn't happen just yet) rape. Next chapter will have it in full-force, I'm serious. So be warned.**

It was now morning.

Well, at least Jim supposed it was. There were no windows, after all.

He wanted to stretch, but unfortunately for him, there was no sensation in any of his limbs, having been literally clamped down to the bed for "his own safety".

Truthfully, he knew he was confined for everyone _else's_ safety.

His frustration was quelled by the medication running through his veins, draining away every human emotion that tried to intrude into his medicated tranquil mind.

Spock would be jealous.

Minutes later, the door hissed open. Jim raised his head to see it was Bones.

Of course.

"Jim, hey," the doctor placed himself by his side, taking a look at the monitor and reading through the results that recorded from overnight. "How you feelin'?"

Jim mentally shrugged and took a breath,

"Sleepy," he smiled drowsily.

McCoy nodded, satisfied with the documented data from the night before and sent the output to his PADD, then turned to Jim while tapping away, "We've got a neurologist to see you today kiddo. He's gonna see you every day and keep track of your behaviour under the medication to see if it's viable in the long term. Sound good?"

Jim uncharacteristically smiled and nodded, the medication forcing him to be compliant.

Bones, knowing this, sighed and gave him a pat on the shoulder, placing the PADD under his arm and standing up out of his seat.

"I'll get him to give ya something to eat as well."

But Jim was already asleep again.

…..

 _Two hours later._

Jim woke up to another swooshing of the door opening.

He opened his eyes, ick stuck in the corner of his lids as the drowsiness began to wear off. No doubt, it'll only be a matter of time before the next round of medication is pumped through to send him to sleep again.

The knowledge of the lack of control over his body sent waves of anger pressing into the corners of his drugged mind, but of course he was hindered any emotional reaction.

Two men walked into the room, one he recognised as Bones, except this time he was wearing a white medical uniform rather than his ordinary Starfleet blues.  
Accompanying him was a slightly older man, who was also wearing whites but looked much sterner, and…familiar? He carried a medium sized medical kit with him—larger than a handbag, about the same size as a rucksack, but it was a big white box.

"Jim, this is the neurologist I was talking about," Bones walked over to him, gesturing towards the other man.

The older man gave him a smile—but not a comforting one—a smile that sent shivers down his spine. Again, all rational thought of something being wrong was washed away.

"Jim." The man greeted him, offering a hand to shake. Jim was strangely hesitant, the feeling in his gut returning.  
He looked to Bones for instructions, and he nodded his approval. So, Jim hesitantly shook his hand, the grip was a little too tight.  
Jim stared into the man's eyes… something about him was just… off…

"I need to be alone with him. How long do I have to spend with him?" the man asked the CMO, shoving his bag onto something behind him. He assumed it was a table.  
When did that get there? He thought the room was completely empty. There weren't any headboards to block his view from behind.

Bones quickly whipped out his PADD and gave it to the other doctor. "Times are all on here. And here…" he pushed his finger to the screen and swiped a few times, "…Is the log entry for today. Any concerns or findings, if Ji—"he quickly stopped himself, "…the patient reacts negatively in any way, then log it down."

The man smiled, and placed the PADD on the table behind, right next to his bag.

"Certainly. I ask that I not be interrupted, no matter what happens."

At this, Bones paused and turned to square up the doctor. Or at least subtly express his annoyance.

"If there is something medically wrong with him, then I need to come in. _No matter what."_

The other doctor seemed angry about that, "No, I'm a neurologist, if something is wrong with him then be assured I can handle him on my own."

Bones stamped a foot closer to the man, "I'm a doctor, damn it! His doctor, the damn chief medical officer! I'll come in whenever the hell I please! Now are you goin' to keep challenging me until I have to get you replaced, or are you going to do what I tell you?"

The man grunted and mutter a curse under his breath, before waving him off. "Fine. But other than an emergency, don't come in."

Bones crossed his arms and walked to the door, "Whatever." Then quickly stopped and turned around, "Oh, by the way, he hasn't eaten since yesterday, so you better help him eat. Whatever you do, don't let him out those restraints!"

Then he turned to Jim apologetically, "Sorry, kid." He knew that Jim hated being in those cuffs.

A sly smirk formed on the other doctor's lips. "Sure thing, doc."

With a reassuring smile from Bones, he turned on his heel and left the room, leaving Jim alone with this strange man.

At first, absolutely nothing was going on. In fact, for a while, Jim thought the man had got distracted on his PADD since there was no sound coming from him at all.

Then he appeared in Jim's lines of sight, sporting a massive grin, and Jim felt anxiety pull through the medication and hit his stomach.

"Don't you remember me, Jimmy?"

Jim blinked nervously at the man who was towering above him. He seemed familiar the second he walked into the room, but his face was half covered with a surgical mask and his clothes were completely covered with a medical uniform.

But something about those eyes…

"How is your mind doing, hey? You're sectioned away from your crew now, I must have really fucked ya up." The man cooed, and walked around behind the bed again, picking up his bag. "You know, that lil' device I planted in your stomach was supposed to produce a specific chemical to make you want to come to me, to find me. I guess that didn't work as planned, so I had to find you instead!"

Jim suddenly felt sick.

"Frank?"

The wicked grin returned, the man stepping closer with a strange contraption in his hands. He'd seen that before too, but where…

"Open wide, Jimmy," the man taunted. Despite the horrible feelings in Jim's gut, the medication forced him to comply, and he found himself opening his mouth against his will.

"Good boy," the man taunted, leaning in closer and shoving the contraption inside Jim's mouth. It forced his jaw open a good couple of inches, and in seconds Jim knew that this man wasn't here on doctor-business. He then pressed a couple of buttons, and the luminating blue lights faded out, and with it, the sensation in his limbs faded back in. However, he was still clamped down to the bed.

"Your doctor friend is a bitch, you know that?" he sighed, taking out something else from behind him, then pacing back around to Jim's side.

With one hand, the man was holding a huge flexible tube, and with the other hand, he latched onto the open clamp dangling over the top side of Jim's bed and locked it over his forehead.

Jim's heart was racing in his chest.  
"Bones is gonna come in here if you scare me too much," he wanted to say, even with how childish it sounded, but it was true.  
In reality, all he said behind the gag was "Gahk ke gah cuh ih here ih yuh keeh cairing ne"

"Uh huh," the 'doctor' sarcastically replied, looking mockingly down at Jim. "Well, he told me to feed you, so I might as well get that out the way first, 'cos if I don't then he won't let me to come back."

And with that, the man gripped Jim's chin with one hand and shoved the tube into Jim's opened mouth, forcing the rubber down his throat, regardless of the coughing and gagging it was causing.

"What would you like to eat, Jimmy?" he asked, continuing to push the tube down further, grinning at Jim's watering eyes that were glaring at him pleadingly. He left the tube once it had slid into place, and walked away again leaving it dangling down the side of the bed.

Jim felt himself trembling. While it was good to have the feeling back in his limbs, he didn't want it to be like this.

"I don't want anything" he wanted to say. Instead he choked out "Aghhh gaaah" and coughed.

"Curry, did you say? Well that's good, because it's the only food here," the man jeered, walking back over to Jim and ripping off the top of a paper looking bag. "I mean, don't you think it looks like vomit?" he then picked up the tube and poured the contents of the bag into it, helping the mushy food through the rubber tube by gently lifting it with his hands as it slid down.

As soon as the food hit the back of Jim's throat, he bucked and started thrashing.

God! It was invading his throat, stopping him from breathing! He choked and gagged, making strange gargling noises as the man continued lifting the tube in the air to allow the food to slide in.

"That's it, Jimmy, swallow it," the man inhaled, and suddenly yanked the tube out of his throat and tossed it to the floor. Instantly, Jim's gag reflex kicked in and he jerked under the restraints, gagging and regurgitating as bits of vomit dribbled down the corner of his lips.

Jim continued practically vibrating on the table, as his body protested and tried to force him to double over to empty the contents of his stomach, but because he was clamped down flat to the table, instead he was vomiting and inhaling it again, everything pooling inside his mouth.

Frank smiled grimly and knelt down next to the shaking man, Jim's eyes following him and begging him to make it stop. Instead, Frank made hushing noises and placed his finger around the corners of Jim's stretched lips, internally cringing at the mess inside his mouth.

All of a sudden, an alarm sounded, three loud beeps screaming out every two seconds.

Instantly, Frank knew he'd gone too far and grabbed the tube that was discarded on the floor, quickly gathering it up and hiding it in the table cupboard behind Jim's bed, then leaped beside Jim and yanked the gag out his mouth, slipping it into his pocket. And just in the nick of time, he released a clamp over Jim's left arm and wrist, then darted to the door to pretend he was about to get help.

Seconds later, the doors hissed open and Bones came storming in with another doctor.

Frank, pretending to be startled, jumped and pointed over to Jim, "Doctor! That alarm just started going, he was trying to feed himself and it went wrong, look!" he pointed over at the arm that he'd just unclamped.

Swearing, McCoy raced over and shot a look to the accompanying doctor beside him.

"He's choking," McCoy diagnosed in seconds, "Release all the clamps and get him on his side, I'll get the suction,"

Jim's eyes rolled back in his head as his body continued making gargling noises at the failed regurgitations. The clamps were released and soon Jim was being hauled onto his side. Frank stood by and watched, his smirk going unnoticed by the busy doctors.

The sound of machinery turning on rang in the air, and soon enough McCoy resurfaced next to Jim with a suction in between his fingers, shoving it into Jim's mouth with one hand and holding him steady with the other.

The device began making loud slurping noises as the food Frank had forced down Jim's throat minutes before was getting drained away.

The second doctor depressed a hypo into Jim's thigh, which brought the shaking down to a minimum, and soon enough the alarm was silenced.

After a moment, Bones relaxed a little and glared up at Frank, his eyes furious.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded, removing the suction and hooking it back under the table. Carefully, the second doctor pushed Jim's body back down flat onto the bed, pulling his limbs into the correct positions, then pressed the button on Jim's bed that simultaneously clamped down all of his limbs at once.

Frank pretended to be shocked, "I tried to let him feed himself, I was just doing a good thing to get him to trust me. I left him alone for a _second_ to get my equipment from the bag and he just started choking!"

McCoy pursed his lips together and shook his head. "He was really stressed about today…" he sighed, "It's not your fault. I know he's practically clamped to the bed but for god sake, don't take your damn eyes off of him!"

Frank rapidly nodded. Now he just needed to keep himself in the room. Surely if they kicked him out the room now they would find the tube under the table.

"What should I do now? I wouldn't want him to get stressed about this tomorrow as well…"

Bones crossed his arms together and gestured with his chin at the other doctor to the door. She made her way to leave promptly.

"You think you should carry on with the appointment?" he hissed, "He's just had a choking fit!"

Frank threw his hands up, "I know, I know! But it hasn't had a chance to sink in yet, by tomorrow he'll be terrified of doing it again," he reasoned, hoping McCoy dismissed the fact that Jim would have complied, regardless of how scared he would be. "I won't be doing much, I'll just sit by with him and run a few scans."

McCoy sighed in resignation and took another glance to Jim's monitor.

All vitals were stable now.

"Well… I guess you're right. But be the hell careful, you understand?"

Frank swiftly nodded, holding back the smile forming on his lips at the thought of having Jim to himself again.

Bones sighed, shaking his head and leaving the room once again, muttering to himself.  
Before the doors closed, he shouted "You have one hour!"

Frank slipped his hand into his pocket and felt for the gag.

…..

Jim came to again very slowly, as if having thick blinds draw upwards and release him to the outside world. His throat was burning, his head pounding like he'd been hit with a baseball bat.

Multiple times.

Upon opening his eyes, he expected to be greeted with the stark white ceiling, but instead everything was black.

As his senses began to return to him, he noticed that the inside of his mouth tasted distinctly both sweet and like vomit. It smelt like bile too. He attempted to move, but this time the clamps were stopping him from the opposite side.

Then it hit him—he was clamped face down onto the table.  
His little movement hadn't gone unnoticed, however.

"Jimmy!" came a cheerful voice, a hand suddenly latching onto his messy hair and painfully yanking his head upwards.  
The harsh light made him slam his eyes shut again, a groan escaping from his lips.

"I've got a proposition for you, Jimmy!"

Jim moaned in a question-like tone, "Mghhh?"

"I didn't come here to doctor you back to health, Jimmy. In fact, obviously I'm the reason you're in this mess in the first place, why the hell would I do that?" Frank chuckled to himself and leaned in front of him and over the top of the bed, still latching onto his hair with one hand, and bringing back a curved little apparatus in the other.

He hooked locked it into some holes at the top of the bed. He assumed it was supposed to be a head rest, in case an exam needed to be done and a patient wasn't allowed out the room. It was portable and convenient.

Instead, Frank hauled Jim's head up by the hair and placed his chin on top of the rubber curve, locking the clamp that was supposed to be used for his forehead over the back of Jim's head instead.  
Now he was trapped staring at the wall with his head in a chin rest.

"Here's the thing. If you get bad marks on your exam results with the neurologist—that's me, then Jimmy can't go to work. So, you're going to do as your told and give me the best entertainment of my life, if you know what I mean. The better you are, the higher mark I'll give you. But if you are disobedient, Jimmy, then I'll give you a very low score and you'll be stuck in here with me for longer."

Jim shut his eyes and held himself back from whimpering. He hadn't been dosed with his medication all day. He was bound to lash out soon, if Frank didn't hook him back up soon. Either way, he would be stuck in here for a long time if he didn't agree to Frank's wishes.

Then Frank got up close to Jim's ear, forcefully threatening in a harsh whisper, " _And if you dare tell anyone about this, I'll pick a certain someone else as my toy instead."_

Jim's blood ran cold.

Just like a few hours before, Frank approached him with a gag and menacingly knelt down in front of him, "Open wide, Jimmy!"

Heart pounding out of his chest, Jim hesitantly obeyed, allowing the gag to push its way into his mouth and force his jaw open. With the medication wearing off, he felt the burning settling in around his jaw muscles. He mumbled a whimper into the gag.

"Now, now, Jimmy. What did I say?" Frank disappeared behind him, and all of a sudden, his trousers were being yanked at.

 _Oh god, no… please don't._

"Now…I only have…an…..hour….with you….." Frank strained, yanking off Jim's trousers with every word. "But I'm sure….I'll think of…. something… to explain this…."

As his trousers slid off, Jim felt a hand glide along his cheeks, he shivered at the touch, and in return he was given a harsh smack.

"You have any idea how lonely it was in prison, Jimmy? Prison changes you."

Now two hands were sliding along his buttocks. He cringed and tried to think of something else. Back on the bridge perhaps, and not being undressed alone in a room subject to the madness of his psychopath of a step-father. He was horrible to him as a child, but it had never gotten as bad as this.

"I just…have this urge now, Jimmy. I don't know how I coped without it before. You're so pretty, you know that?" he ran his hands down Jim's legs with his fingers, his victim unable to fight back. "But here you are, all clamped down on this table just for me. It's like you knew I was coming!"

It didn't take long before Frank had moved onto Jim's shirt, pulling and tugging at the material. It was evident that he'd given up, however, as he had stepped away for a second and came back with something sharp, as the sound of material being torn vibrating angrily into his eardrums.

"You're probably real confused about how I was able to do this chemical stuff to ya," Frank whispered, running a finger up Jim's spine half-way through tearing his shirt off, "I'm confused too. But my good doctor friend Reagan gave me a vial for the hypo that would alter your DNA sequence, whatever that means."

Jim couldn't stop the gasp that escaped as something sharp danced down his back.

"He gave me a little device to put on your head too. I don't know how it works exactly, but he said it _clamps onto the part of the brain responsible for rational thought and alters it using a microscopic bug._ Now, I didn't have time to do that, as you vanished right in front of me! So, I've got it here."

Jim let out a scared moan that was building up as his hair was suddenly ruffled tauntingly.

"Hence why I disguised myself as a neurologist, thanks to Reagan's credentials. So, give it a few days, I'll convince your doctor friend to let me spend a lot of alone time with you, and I'll attach that instrument to your head while you entertain me by sucking on a dildo. Then you'll just… be a toy. No reasoning needed, no fear, no worry, you'll just…ahh, the thought of it Jimmy, it makes me so excited! Aren't you excited?"

Jim was petrified.

Frank had tried to capture Jim and make him into his little sex-toy only a few months ago and failed just because there was a protocol on the ship to beam the Captain back if he was gone too long without checking in. And he was only with Frank for less than five minutes.

There was no telling what Frank could do with all these hours of spare time with him.

Soon enough, Jim's shirt was finally torn apart, and he was naked on the table with his mouth forced open.

He was terrified of what would come next.

 _ **TBC...**_

...

It really looks like Jim is stuck now, isn't he? Will Bones find out what's happening in time?

Your thoughts are massively appreciated!


	8. Chapter 8

WARNING: This is as sexual as this story is going to get. It contains descriptions of forced orgasms, nudity, and rape. This is as bad as I'm gonna write it because this is so unnerving to type up.

Enjoy :D

* * *

 _There was no telling what Frank could do with all these hours of spare time with him._

 _Soon enough, Jim's shirt was finally torn apart, and he was naked on the table with his mouth forced open._

 _And he was terrified of what would come next._

* * *

Jim lay emotionally numb on his stomach, participating in what he supposed was "entertaining" Frank, by doing nothing but allowing a giant dildo to glide back and forth in his throat.

Frank looked positively bored, sitting on a stool next to him and watching the whole ordeal, his chin resting on his knuckles. Jim wasn't trying to make this interesting at all, as beautiful as his body was.

Blowing a raspberry, whipped out the PADD laying on a tray, swiped the reports up and read through them.

Ugh, how painful it must be to be a Starfleet officer.

He had to grade Jim on his 'progress' today. All that really happened was him choking on the food that he forced down his throat and now he was lying there allowing a dildo to move back and forth—obediently mind you, but still very boring.

He swiped the report away, then glanced at a bunch of UI that came up.

One of them read "Camera: For scientific away mission recording purposes only."

Perfect.

He loaded the application, then glanced up to Jim.

"Smile!" he sneered, raising the PADD and started filming Jim's 'session'. His victim managed to side glance his eyes to the camera and start wriggling around in desperation, not liking the idea of being filming naked bound to the table and being forced to suck a dildo, for some reason.

"That's more like it, Jimmy!" Frank exclaimed, leaning forward to the small machine and flicking the switch to its fastest option.

Immediately Jim started choking and straining in the restraints, desperately trying to catch his breath. The toy was lodging itself down his throat at rapid speeds, blocking all hopes of him being able to breathe again.

"Agg-ggh—gah—ghhh!" Jim choked, trying to move his head but the clamp was keeping him in place.

Frank merely sneered in the background and stood closer, beginning to film his extremities. He began with his ass, then filmed himself whipping the cheeks with the palm of his hand until the skin was red, his victim groaning in pain on every smack. After he got bored of that, he moved up to his sweating back, then his face, filming the dildo rocketing in and out of his mouth, the sound of him laughing getting overlapped by Jim's scared whining in the background.

At the sight of Jim's eyes losing focus, and in fear of the alarm going off again, Frank quickly slipped the PADD back onto the table and turned the machine off. The toy glided to a halt, the tip touching the edge of Jim's tongue.

Suddenly, Jim started shaking, coughing, then gasping for breath. Clearly, he was on the edge of unconsciousness.

"That must have been wild!" Frank retorted, "Either that or you're just really bad at sucking. Don't worry, I'll teach you how to get better."

Jim made a whining noise through the gag as the dildo was yanked away, his body still shaking from the after effects the ordeal.  
Even though the toy was taken away, he still felt like he couldn't breathe, as if his throat was constricted; he couldn't stop gasping for air.

Frank gave him a rough pat on the head, running his head down the side of his cheek and neck, before his phone started vibrating.

"Jeez, hold on Jimmy, I'll be right back," Frank cooed 'lovingly' at Jim and walked to the end of the room.

Jim let out a shaky breath and shut his eyes, his chin becoming very uncomfortable on the chin-rest he was propped up on. He tried to move his arms, to see if anything would budge—of course, it wouldn't. These clamps were used in the securest prison facility in Starfleet and someone was yet to escape them. His entire body burnt with the need to move.

"Yeah?" Frank suddenly brought Jim out of his thoughts, now on the phone and leaning against the wall. "Oh, Isaac. I'm a lil' busy right now, I'm with… a friend…" he smiled towards Jim, who looked away and tried to avoid eye contact.

"Uh huh. Yeah."

Jim's eyes searched around the room, trying to find something— _anything_ that would help him escape.

"Why couldn't Reagan just call me himself?" Frank growled into the phone, seemingly frustrated by whatever the caller was asking him.

Jim yanked at his arm for the seventeenth time in the last hour, and once again all it made was a _clang!_

Frank glared at him at the noise.

Grinning to himself, Jim yanked at the clamp again. And again. And again. And again—

" _JIMMY_!" Frank roared, phone still in hand, " _SHUT THE FUCK UP!_ I can't hear SHIT over your god damn banging!"

 _That's my amusement for today,_ Jim thought to himself, not daring to annoy Frank further.

Frank mumbled to himself under his breath before putting the phone back to his ear again.

"That damn kid. Now what was this about an animal?"

Jim tried to guess what the time was. It felt like he'd been there for a long while.

 _Hopefully soon Bones will come back in and get me out of this mess… he'd probably keep me in the restraints though. God, I'm gonna be so cramped up when I'm let out…_

"Yeah, an animal? What? Animal. No? What the hell are you saying? Animal? Enamel? Enamel. Why the fuck does Reagan need enamel?"

Frank started walking back up to Jim, sending his heart into a frenzy again. Jim began struggling again, but all Frank did was walk straight past him and press a couple of buttons on the side of the bed.

Seconds later, the clamps on his knees and ankles were released.  
Jim kicked around instantly, but of course, the clamps around his torso and chest were keeping him in place. He felt a hand on his ankle and he instinctively kicked, but the grip just grew stronger, and the kicking fiercer. Then the hand let go and smacked Jim hard on the ass.

He let out a low whine and stopped moving.

"Okay. Well I dunno how he expects me to do that, Isaac. You can't just get damn enamel on the market. Does he mean the paint?"

The hand returned to Jim's ankle again, and suddenly he felt his leg forcefully being bent towards his chest, same with the other leg, until he was on his knees, leaning forward as his arms and head was still at the top of the bed. The clamps locked back into place. All of a sudden, the clamp around his torso, chest and arms were unlocked.

"Yeah, well I don't know. What? What the hell does he mean he'll turn me in? That little fucker!"

Jim let out a strangled mewl as his body was pulled forward, successfully stretching his arms out in front of him and his ass sticking out in the air, putting a massive strain on his neck as it was the only part of his body that wasn't repositioned. His back was so stretched that it was causing pain. The clamps slammed his limbs down to the table again, forcefully locking his position.

"What the fuck does he expect me to do!" Frank yelled, taking his anger out on Jim with a few harsh smacks to his arse that was now lifted in the air. "God, tell him to give me a day, alright!"

He saw Frank walk behind him. Anxiety swelled around in the pit of his stomach, having no idea what he was doing out of his line of sight.

"Yeah, well get him to call me back or something, I've got limited time with my friend here." Jim heard Frank growl into his phone, before it was slammed on the table.

Obviously, he had hung up the phone.

"Aaagh?" Jim attempted to communicate with him.

"Fuckin' Reagan, you remember Reagan?"

Jim couldn't shake his head either way.

"Well, he's called my other doctor friend Isaac, telling him that he needs enamel. He's made it _my_ job to get it from the fucking market—how the fuck do you get fucking _enamel_ from a market?!" he almost yelled, delivering another harsh smack to Jim's ass. He strained a groan with the pain.

"Threatened me and everything, the bastard," Frank begun, Jim now hearing the sound of rummaging behind him, "Saying he's the reason why I managed to smuggle myself onto the ship, and if I didn't give him what he wanted then he'd turn me in."

All of a sudden, Jim felt his ass cheeks forcefully wrench apart and stretch his hole, causing a pained cry to escape from his mouth.

"Shut up, take it like a man you fucking brat," Frank spat, and Jim felt something enter his hole. He bucked instantly, attempting to thrash again, but another three smacks to the thigh stopped him in his tracks.

"I'm giving you a reward for being so good, Jimmy. And besides, watching you react to this will make me feel better" Frank cooed from behind, "You're gonna enjoy this Jimmy, I know you will." The object was pushed in even further, causing Jim's knees to tremble and his breathing to increase.

Then Frank waltzed in front of Jim, grabbing a tool and sitting in front of him. He had a small remote in his hand, which spooked Jim's curiosity, as much as he didn't want to know what it did.

Frank smiled as he watched saliva drip from Jim's open mouth, running a finger along his lips and wiping the dribble on his skin.

"Are you ready for your reward, Jimmy?" Frank teased, waving the remote between his fingers.

"Uh-uh—uh-uh!" Jim desperately tried to get across, knowing it was useless.

"I knew you would!" Frank smiled, pressing a button and sitting back on the stool to watch the show.

At first, Jim felt a gentle smooth gliding movement of _in out in out in out_ of something enter and leave his anus. He moaned to himself, knowing what was coming and dreading it.  
Then, Frank, who was already bored, flicked a switch.

Jim's body went rigid and he gasped violently, his body wracking and vibrating inside the clamps. The object pushed into his anus so hard that it hit his prostate, causing him to whine through the gag at the feeling of the organ being prodded. Over and over and over again.

Frank laughed as Jim cried out in both pain and terror, the object perfectly inserting and removing itself from his anus at high speed, with Jim's ass locked in the air.

"This is great, Jimmy! Man, I gotta show Isaac, hold on-" Frank grabbed the phone from the table and started walking back around to Jim's front again, before the footsteps stopped, and the only sound that rung in the air was the machine motor that pushed and pulled the object in and out his hole. There was a quiet chuckle, no doubt from Frank watching him be helplessly assaulted by the machine, like the sick bastard he was, and walked back around to the front so Jim could see him.

Or rather, so he could see Jim.

"No, no, wait, hold on" Frank laughed, leaning forward and flicking another switch. The intrusion penetrating him rapidly sped up to four pulses a second, the machine creating the sound of a machine gun as strained cry of distress from Jim overpowered the noise. He squeezed his eyes shut.  
His skin was burning with searing pain from the sheer force of the object, his hole blistering and bleeding both with the intrusion and how stretched the skin was.

Upon opening his eyes, he saw Frank smiling in joy to himself, holding up the PADD in what he guessed was a video call to Isaac.

"Isaac! Look! This is my pet, isn't he adorable! Look at the way he's squirming when the dildo hits his prostrate!"

There were outbursts of laughter both from Frank and coming from the PADD.

Jim desperately wanted to curl in on himself and die. He was stuck in the middle of the room with his ass hoisted in the air and being sexually assaulted for Frank's pleasure. At the back of his mind, he wished that the phaser he shot himself with was fatal.

"'heeease 'ank!" Jim cried through the gag, "Curn ih oghh!"

Frank raised an eyebrow at this, then stepped almost nose-to-nose in front of Jim, until Jim's hot panting breath was on his face.

"Turn it off please, _sir."_ He spat to his face.

Jim didn't hesitate, "'Curn ih oghh 'eease 'urr!"

Frank smiled, then threw the phone back onto the tray with a _bang._

"Sure thing, _dear._ Let me just…" Frank grabbed the remote and purposefully turned the thrusting up to 'unrecommended levels'.  
Jim's cry grew heart-wrenchingly loud, reverbing around the walls of the room.

His anus burnt so bad. Warm tears streamed down his face while begging Frank to turn it off without hesitancy.

Finally, the thrusting began to slow down, resuming much slower, gentle methods before stopping completely, the tip of the dildo still slightly lodged in his hole.  
Jim let out a sigh of relief through his gag and eyed Frank worriedly, his heart in his throat.

He wanted to throw up.

And he was about to, his lungs suddenly forcing him to heave as his throat made strange noises, before Frank stepped over in one stride and grabbed Jim's face with both hands.

"You dare fucking throw up on me and I'll make you swallow your vomit."

Jim visibly tried to swallow the bile rising in this throat. " 'esh urr…" he mumbled through the gag, cringing when Frank smiled at Jim calling him _sir_ without any prompting. Frank went around the back of Jim, and soon Jim felt the tip of the dildo being pulled out of anus.

"You _are_ being a good boy, aren't'cha? Lets give you another reward, let's see here…"

Jim bucked against the restraints instantly, " 'O! 'O! 'O hank 'ou 'urr!"

Frank slid his hand across Jim's the curve of Jim's cheek, earning a flinch when he poked the red swelling around his hole.

"No thank you, sir, did you say?"

"Uh huh!"

"Why, had enough with the last one?"

"Uh huh! 'hank 'ou urr! Ih woh 'eally 'oot!

"I'm glad you thought it was good, Jimmy. But I have one more reward before I leave. I have 5 minutes until your doctor comes back here so let's make it quick, huh?"

A choked sob escaped Jim's lips as his lungs started hyperventilating. He really thought that treating Frank as his superior would have worked.

When Frank disappeared behind Jim to rummage through his bag again, Jim whined through his gag and broke down in convulsive gasps, wheezing for breath and losing it all too quickly with his jaw forced open. Tears leaked from his face, a lot of them dripping from his upper lip and landing on his tongue, the salty liquid having a horrible taste.

Seconds later, he felt something much larger push up against his hole, triggering spasms of pain as it hit the sensitive cracked skin. Something was then pushed inside, it felt rubbery and thick.

"Hopefully this will be your lucky toy, Jimmy. There's a lot more, but we can't fit it all in today, sadly."

Jim whined through the gag his disapproval and yelped as the object was wrenched in further. Frank then reappeared in front of him, running a finger under his tear duct and smearing the tears across his skin, down the bridge of his nose.  
After a moment, Jim began to feel a low vibration coming from the toy lodged in his anus. He looked at Frank, alarmed, who just smiled continued wiping at his tears.

"You'll love this, Jim. It's a prostate vibrator. You'll feel—ooh, what's this?" Frank cooed playfully, realising that Jim's cock was throbbing. "Oh, you like that, don't you, Jimmy?"

Once again, Jim only whined, wishing he was dead.

All of a sudden, a hypo was jammed into his backside, causing a scream to erupt from his mouth. Frank decompressed the plunger very slowly, drawing out the pain for even longer.

"I hope this'll make you feel better, Jimmy."

 _Please._

 _Where is Bones._

 _Please help me…_

"Let's see if we can't get you coming for me, hey?"

Jim whined louder, and started pulling at the restraints again.

 _Please. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. Please, please, please…_

Jim sucked in a breath and groaned as the vibrating grew more intense, his cock was _definitely_ interested in this toy.

"C'mon, come for me, Jimmy, make a man happy, come on," he coaxed, watching Jim's ass shifting in anticipation and waiting for the climax.

Jim clenched his fingers together until his nails hit the metal of the restraints clamped on his wrists, digging into it and shaking so hard his knuckles turned white.

Then, with a gasp of joy from Frank, Jim moaned loudly through the gag and wrenched against the restraints in superhuman strength, the older man slowly pulling out the vibrator as Jim's release dripped out of his cock and onto his stretched-out legs, onto the bed. Frank thought his prize looked beautiful being shown off in the air, his release dripping from his cock.

"Good boy, Jimmy!" Frank praised with delight, watching gleefully as Jim's body reacted against his will. There was now blood seeping from his anus. Oh well. "I think I'll keep you in this position for a while longer, your ass is very pretty to look at, especially knowing you've just came all over yourself" he chuckled.

Jim, exhausted and feeling sick, was drifting off to sleep, his eyes fluttering open and shut.

"I bet that felt good, what do you say to me, Jimmy?"

Jim moaned through the gag, then tried his best to speak, " 'hank you, urr…"

Frank gave a grunt of acknowledgement and began packing away his toys.

"We're very behind schedule, your doctor will come in any minute now." He stated, quickly shoving the dildo and vibrator into his 'medical bag'.

Jim then heard Frank angrily growl to himself, and for a second his stomach turned, thinking he'd done something wrong to his superior. When there was no reply, Jim grew strangely curious. Frank yanked the gag out of his mouth, leaving him spluttering and coughing, the nausea still building up in his stomach.

Frank stamped his foot on the ground in rage again, and Jim was concerned for his superior.

"What's wrong?" he asked, finally able to speak without the gag constricting his words. His jaw muscles burnt from being stretched out for so long.

Frank narrowed his eyebrows and spun to face Jim, beginning to shove a gown onto him.

"None of your business, brat."

That hit Jim hard. He only wanted to help…

"I've got to find fuckin' enamel for Reagan or he's going to rat me out. And if I get kicked off the ship, I'm sure to go to prison and that means I can't fuck you anymore." He rolled Jim's gown up to his hips so he could still see his ass.

Jim blinked slowly, "Why you gotta find enamel?"

Frank sighed, giving one last look at Jim's ass and spanking it as hard as he could. Jim squeaked from the sharp pain and settled instantly to not piss off his master. Frank then began unclamping all of Jim's limbs, ready to put him back where he was originally positioned before he had shifted his ass in the air.

"Well, Jimmy, Reagan says he thinks that coating food with enamel will preserve it for years. He doesn't know for sure, but wants to test his theory. If he's right, he wants to sell this new way of preserving food to other planets with dwindling food supplies. I get part of the cut."

Jim didn't fight when all his limbs were unclamped. In fact, he willingly allowed himself to be coerced back to the normal flat-back position that he was supposed to be in.

He felt strangely longing to do whatever Frank told him to…

"How can he send it to other planets if he doesn't have a ship?"

Frank pressed the button that sent all the clamps down onto Jim's limbs, and grabbed his medical bag, throwing it over his shoulder.

"He's part of Starfleet, Jimmy. How'd you think I got on board this ship with Reagan's credentials?"

At that moment, the door whooshed open, revealing Bones practically storming in.

For a second, Jim thought he'd done something wrong. He didn't want Frank to go away.

"You're fifteen minutes overdue, what the hell are you doing in—Good god Jim, you look like shit!"

Jim scrunched his face up and started silently crying instantly. He didn't like being shouted at.

What did he do wrong?

"Oh—no, hey kid, I'm just messing with ya…hey," Bones raced over to Jim's side and gave him a reassuring smile, although something on his face showed hidden concern.

"Sorry about that, doc. Jim and I have done a lot of work today. He's been really good, haven't you Jim?"

Jim eagerly nodded, even more happy that the forehead clamp was not locked over his head so he could move his neck.  
"Yes sir, I've done everything you told me to!"

At this, Bones' eyes darkened.

"Dr Schaidon, what the _hell_ have you done?" Bones turned and quietly spat in Frank's face.

Frank straightened up and held back is impending fury meltdown, "He's been acting like this since you left, doc. My scans show neurological damage. I'm not sure if it's reversible."  
He wasn't about to admit that he'd jammed a hypo into his thigh. He'd no idea what it did, but Jim was acting trustingly towards him, so it apparently worked. He silently thanked Reagan.

Bones' eyes widened at the diagnosis, " _What?_ Are you tellin' me he's brain damaged?"

Frank threw his hands up in the air, "I'm going by what my scans have told me, and as you can see, he is showing symptoms of child-like behaviour and complete personality displacement" he lied.

Bones tugged Frank off to the side, muttering curses under his breath, "He could just have developed a personality disorder from the experience. It doesn't mean he's brain damaged. He's still got all his normal motor functions and is perfectly healthy apart from the… you know…"

"Apart from fact that the brat—the kid lashes out, attempted to kill himself, attempted to kill a staff member and has lapses in memory? Yeah that sounds like a personality disorder."

Jim watched them all from a distance, his lower lip pouting as the men argued amongst each other.

"I'll send you the scans via PADD. Have a good day, doctor." Frank gave a reassuring smile to Bones, a sickening smirk to Jim, then turned with his bag and made a hasty retreat for the door.

The second that the door slid shut, Bones stormed over to Jim and whipped out the medkit from under the table, slamming it onto a desk and wrenching it open.

Jim's heart thudded in his chest. Did he do something wrong?

Bones reappeared around the side of Jim's bed, sitting on a stool and wheeling over with a pen light between his fingers. Jim turned his head the other way.

"Hey. Kid, look at me," he coaxed gently, waving the pen light above Jim's head.

"No."

"Come on darlin', I just want to have a look at your eyes. Is that okay?"

Jim shook his head vigorously. No-one could touch him. He wanted Frank back.

Then a hand gripped onto Jim's chin, gently turning his head to make it look upwards at the ceiling.

Jim squeezed his eyes shut.

"No."

He sounded like a stubborn child.

He heard a sigh, before the sound of the stool wheeling across the room.  
Jim cautiously moved his head to the side to see what he was doing, and quickly moved his head back when he returned.

"Do you think you can do something for me, kid?"

Jim side-glanced him, tensing his muscles in anxiety.

"What?"

Bones slowly revealed something he had in his hand, it looked like a boring white bracelet.

"This uh… this bracelet is pretty special, you see. You think you can wear it for a while?"

Jim cautiously narrowed his eyes.

"Will it hurt?"

Bones sat up and smiled, "Of course it won't hurt, kid, I just want you to wear this for me, just for a couple of minutes."

Jim eyed the strange white bracelet one more time before offering his right hand. With a reassuring smile, Bones pulled the bracelet apart then clamped it around Jim's wrist. Almost immediately afterwards, an alarm sounded on his PADD.

Jim jerked and started pulling and tugging at the bracelet. It wasn't good, this man was obviously trying to harm him.

"No—no, Jim, leave that alone," he demanded in a condescending tone, "That's just giving me some special information, that's why the alarm went off, see?" Bones showed Jim his PADD, and all the flashing light, text and colours that came with it.

Bones read the PADD for himself, apparently the bracelet gave him _special_ information about him. He started frowning, swiping his finger across the scene and muttering something under his breath.

"Jim," he began, letting out a breath as if trying to stay calm, "Can you tell me what you were doing with the doctor?"

Jim pouted. "The doctor made me feel better. Y'know at the beginning he was pretty crap to me, but he got better and I like him. I want him back."

Bones nodded, "Did he make you upset at all?"

He didn't want to tell Bones the truth. The doctor was really nice to him in the end, he didn't want him to get in trouble. Besides, it was Jim's fault that he was angry.

"No. But I panicked a little bit. But that was my fault, he shouted at me when I refused him."

Bones took out his communicator, "Uh-huh. Did your heart start to hurt when you panicked, Jim?"

Jim thought about it for a while. He couldn't really remember much.

"I can't remember" he admitted sadly.

Bones flipped open the communicator, "McCoy to Chapel, I need you in isolation 3029SB" he ordered, flipping it shut and slipping it back into his pocket without waiting for a reply.

Jim looked up nervously at him. Something was wrong, he felt it. McCoy glanced up at the current monitor results. Then back down to Jim.

He suddenly had an overwhelming desire to throw up.

McCoy opened the medkit and started taking out random pieces of equipment. Jim shut his eyes and tried to control his breathing.

 _Don't throw up._

 _Don't throw up._

 _He'll be mad at you._

"Jim?"

Jim opened his eyes, almost gagging at the light entering his eyes making the nausea worse. McCoy had a stethoscope in hand. How ancient.

"I'm gonna have a listen to your chest, okay?"

Jim shook his head. No-one could touch him but Frank. Frank was gentle and kind when he wanted to be, the other doctor shouted all the time and was always angry.

"Jim, it's very important that I listen to your heart."

He shook his head again. Didn't they have monitors to check his heart rate?

"Look at my vitals" Jim bit back, bending his head back to look up at the monitor behind him.

There was a sigh—an impatient one. "Yeah, I can see that your heart is beating but I need to _listen_ to it. Do you understand?"

"No! I don't want you to touch me! I want the other doctor!"

In that moment, the door hissed open and Chapel came in.

"Chris, get over here _now."_

Jim couldn't hold it back anymore.

He whipped his head to the side and vomited out his anxiety that had been building over the past hour, his body seemingly in a never-ending fit of gagging and retching, hands shaking with the effort and intensity.

"Alright, alright," he heard Chapel say, as another pair of hands latched onto his face, "Let's get this all cleaned up for you."

Jim moaned through his haze, and subconsciously he felt something sharp against his neck. His body sluggishly responded, his neck craning to move the hands away ten seconds later.

He felt the clamps over his chest release, fingers were tugging at his shirt, pulling them up to his shoulders.

Something cold pressed against his chest and his fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, bucking and kicking and jerking to get the intrusion off of him.

"Let me go! Let me go! Let go of me! Let me go! Let me….go! Arrgh! Get off me! Get… of me! Get…"

"It's okay-it's okay, it's okay—sweetheart it's okay, we're just having a listen to your heart, okay?"

"Get off me!" Jim cried out in fear, unable to do anything to get the horrible doctors off of him.

"Atrial fibrillation," he heard someone confirm from beside him.

"Okay." He heard someone else say worriedly, too out-of-it and confused to recognise who the voice was coming from. "Why's he acting like this?"

"Schaidon was saying it's brain damage."

"Please! Let go of me! I swear I won't do anything bad!"

"Should we sedate him?"

"We might have to if we need to restart his heart," the first voice said, "Jim?"

"I want to die!" Jim cried out in distress. Both McCoy and Chapel glanced at each other nervously.  
He swore he heard someone mutter _oh darlin'…_

He saw a hand that held a hypospray. He completely went into a full-blown panic attack.

"I don't want-I don't want-I don't want-I don't want-" strange noises started blowing from his lips as he struggled for air.

"Shhh," he heard someone say, "This is gonna make you feel better, okay?"

He was breathing so hard that he started choking on his breath. He nearly missed the sting of the hypo press against his neck.

"I want Frank back!"

Chapel and McCoy shared alarmed looks.

"Why do you want Frank back, Jim?"

He sniffed and tried to get his breath back. "I… he's…." he remembered Frank told him not to mention he was there. How could he play it off?

"I don't…argh…" he groaned, his vision swimming. "I…Frank…he…my…"

"Just try to relax sweetheart, don't fight it, okay?"

"But…"

Jim let out a breath, his world down spiralling as he lost touch of reality. "Wha's happ'ning?"

"Close your eyes, Jim."

"There you go sweetheart. It's okay."

Jim allowed his eyes to shut, feeling as if he were floating. Another couple of seconds later and he was gone.

….

McCoy blew out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He and Chapel had managed to restart Jim's heart to get it back into a normal rhythm, and the only reason that made sense for the arrhythmia to happen was it being stress-induced.

"Kid must've been mighty stressed for it to get to this point" Bones sighed, passing his PADD to Chapel, "These are what I recorded half an hour ago with the medi-bracelet. His heart's been under massive strain since Schaidon was in the room with him."

"How far back does the record go?" Chapel read through the alarming results.

"About two hours. He was fine before the appointment." McCoy leaned over Chapel and pointed to a certain time in the record, "This was ten minutes before I arrived, atrial fibrillation started then. 466 beats a minute max."

Chapel shook her head in disbelief, and glanced up to Jim, who was still sedated. "What're we gonna do? If it was Schaidon who did this then we can't risk having him back."

McCoy inhaled sharply and stared at the ceiling in frustration. "I'm gonna pay that son of a bitch a visit. If he don't have a good explanation I'm gonna get him chucked off the damn ship, even if we toss him out an airlock into nothingness."

So, paying "Schaidon" a visit was just what he did.

* * *

These are getting updated too regularly (every day now) so I'm aiming for at least 6000 words next time.

Hope you all enjoyed and at least cried a little, _please_ eitherleave a fav, follow or comment as it helps me to know you like reading it :)

* * *

 **NEXT CHAPTER:** _A very pissed off McCoy has a livid conversation with Frank. Frank finds out a solution to his enamel problem and unfortunately for Jim, his new found submissiveness gets him dragged along with it. More pain. A lot_ of pain.


	9. Chapter 9

WARNING: There is a period of mentions of sexual content, but the rest of it is fine.

Mentions of torture, serious, serious torture.

I hope this makes you feel angsty :)

* * *

Frank paced back and forth in his quarters, making laps around a table with his phone on it.

He has exactly two hours to get Reagan's god damn stupid enamel for his stupid project before the idiot turns him in.

Where the hell does he get enamel? The black market and all other illegal places have nothing but old historical teeth on display, and that will do nothing to help Reagan and his experiment to keep food supply fresh.

Should he tell Reagan to go fuck himself and risk getting thrown off the ship, or does he give into the humiliation of asking for help?

He's no damn scientist! He's just following his "friends" around in circles so he can get his hands on Jimmy.

And he has Jimmy now. Jimmy seems to have become attached to him—trust him, thanks to the hypo he jammed in his ass yesterday. But that will wear off eventually. He only had three hypos left and couldn't afford to keep getting new ones.

He had to get the damn implant in Jim's head so that the changes would become permanent.

And without Reagan to do the surgery, he can't. Because he still owes Reagan for the damn enamel!

Cursing, he grabbed his phone from the table and looked at the time.

1100 hours. His appointment with Jimmy is within the next hour.

As he was about to tuck his phone away, but there was a chime on the door to alert him someone wanted to enter.

" _Ugh_ " he grumbled to himself, turning to the door and raising his voice, "Yeah?"

Not even half a second later, the door slid open and in stormed McCoy.

 _Shit_.

"Oh, it's you," he mocked sarcastically, "What do you want?"

McCoy scowled and stormed over, "I want you to tell me what the fuck you've done with Jim."

Frank crossed his arms and stared daggers into the man. How rude. He ought to punish him.

Unfortunately, that would get him caught.

"What'd you mean? You mean his behaviour?" He'll just have to wing it and tell him everything Reagan told him. McCoy raised his finger to say something, paused, then changed his mind, sighing and taking out his PADD.

"You see this?" McCoy shoved a PADD in his hands. All the data was rocket science to him. Hopefully the doctor would explain it. "Jim was fine yesterday right up until _you_ entered. When I examined him, I found his heart was under massive strain, it was tachycardia—in fact there was atrial fibrillation. We had to restart it before he had a heart attack." His face was absolutely beet red with anger, gritting his teeth the entire time he was talking.

"I forwarded you the scans, doc. He's got brain damage. You didn't scan for it in time and this is what has happened."

McCoy scowled, "Brain damage or not, that doesn't account for why his heart was going damn ballistic!"

Frank sighed. Perhaps he'd have to make himself look bad in a good way, without telling him the whole truth.

"Alright, okay? He's got the mind of a kid. He refused to eat after he threw his last meal up and I got pissed, I yelled, I shouted and I threatened him saying I'd make sure he'd be kept in the institution for the rest of his life. I was pretty pissed, doc."

McCoy looked like he was about to commit murder right there and then.

"He cried and had a pretty big meltdown, it was awful. I silenced the alarms because I didn't want you knowing." Well at least that part was true.

McCoy stared daggers into him for another ten seconds before dropping his shoulders. "I guess that's not as bad as I thought you'd done."

The man is smarter than he looks.

"You're messing up a lot, Dr Schaidon, I can't have you constantly coming back if you put him through this stress every day."

Frank was quick to defend himself, "Sorry doc, I guess I just get frustrated with stubborn kids like him. I diagnosed his brain damage and now I must continue my investigation to find out what's caused it. You said something about chemicals?" he tried to change the subject to make him look good.

It worked in his favour.

"Yeah, something is producing chemicals that's affecting his brain. I don't know where it's coming from or how it's done, and that frustrates me. So, I hired you to dedicate all your time to it, because we've got better chances of figuring it out with two pairs of hands instead of one."

Frank pretended he understood a word he was saying and nodded absentmindedly.

"I have an appointment with him now. If you have no objections…?"

Bones waved him off and gestured to the door.  
Frank darted to the door the second he was given the all clear before being suddenly blocked by a hand.

Bones stood in front of him.

"If I find that you've damaged him in some way, I'm throwing your god damn ass in the brig and taking you to the nearest prison facility, you understand?" Bones growled through clenched teeth, "The only god damn reason why you're _still_ here after all these fuck-ups is because you're the highest-ranking neurologist in the area and Jim only deserves the best. But I won't hesitate to throw you out a damn airlock if you lay one bad finger on him."

Frank, despite himself, put a hand on McCoy's shoulder and gave his best reassuring smile, "Don't worry doc, Jim's getting the special treatment."

And with that, he left the CMO alone to scowl at his life choices.

 _Special treatment. Oh, he has no idea how true that is._

 _…._

"Why do I keep needing these injections, sir?" Jim asked, as Frank decompressed another hypo into his arm. He was being given them every day now, and only by that doctor. Perhaps it was to help his head.

"It's to get your brain working the way it should do" Frank replied, packing the hypo away so that no-one would accidently stumble upon it.

 _Or get it working the way I want it to._

Frank adjusted the head of Jim's bed to tilt backwards another 60 degrees until his neck was at an awkward position compared to the rest of his body.

He unzipped his trousers that he'd put on especially for the plan he had today, then unzipped his pants.

Jim was still ignorant to what was right and wrong, and just lay content on the bed, not flinching as Frank's fingers crawled under his neck and tilted his head back.

"You're gonna need to open real wide for this load, Jimmy" Frank sneered, bracing Jim's mouth to accept his cock.

Jim obeyed, wanting to do anything for his master. He would do anything to make him happy. Having no sense to understand the size of his master's genitalia in comparison to his mouth, he needed to be guided to keep opening wider, much to Frank's frustration.

Perhaps he was drugging him _too_ much. The kid had no damn intellect.

"Wider, Jimmy," he coaxed, trying to fit his cock in at that miniscule amount of inch Jim's mouth had opened. "Wider, really wide. Don't make me get the gag."

At that, Jim instantly yanked his mouth open as wide as it would go, feeling tranquil and calm as Frank's cock settled as it slid past his lips.

He looked really confused. His genitals were sitting in his mouth and he looked like he had no idea what to do with it.

 _For fuck sake, do I really have to retrain him in how to pleasure a man?  
…Is he really that intelligently deficient?_

He sighed, "Suck on it Jim, like you're sucking a straw. Yeah—FUCK NOT THAT MUCH—STOP YOU FUCKING MORON! ARGH!" he shouted and tried to pull away, Jim's teeth digging into the flesh.

Jim's eyes filled with tears as he let down his master. He just wanted to make him happy.

"Your teeth! Your god damn teeth are…. wait a minute." Frank pulled his cock out Jim's mouth and stared down at his confused face. "Teeth. Jim, smile with your teeth. Now."

Jim blinked slowly, then offered an unsure toothy grin.

Suddenly, something lit up inside Frank. How could he have been so stupid?

Enamel. He could use enamel from a real, healthy tooth!

But, shit… Reagan had an annoying sense of morality and wouldn't operate on someone who didn't give consent.

"Hey, Jim.." Frank began, petting Jim's hair, who's smile starting fading into a worried frown. "You're such a pretty boy, you know that?"

Jim's frown gradually formed into a real smile and nodded.

"How would you like to help me save some planets from starvation? Huh? You like that?"

Another quick nod.

 _This should be easy,_ Frank thought to himself, _Jim is thick as thieves under all these drugs right now. He couldn't tell a cow from a horse._

"You remember my friend Reagan?"

"Uh-huh!"

"Well, Reagan has a mission to save worlds from starvation," Frank said, removing the part of the story where Reagan was actually going to sell the finished product for other companies to distribute instead of sending them to worlds himself, "And he needs some enamel for part of his experiment. I think a really healthy pretty boy like you would want to help him, don't you?"

Jim, completely ignorant of what he was getting himself into, eagerly nodded. "How do I do it?"

Frank was a tiny bit concerned about explaining this part, "Well…. You can save millions of people by donating your enamel. How about that? Reagan said that food would be coated in enamel, along with other stuff that I've no idea the name of, and that will preserve food long enough to send to other planets for years! Sound good?"

All he knew about the experiment was that the enamel was supposed to react to other chemicals that he had no recollection of the name of, and that was theorized to preserve any type of food.

He didn't know what he expected. Jim continued gleaming and was nodding enthusiastically. His ignorance was bliss—he could do anything to Jim that he wanted to, shape him in any way he pleased, train him to be his perfect pet… but he was still thick and susceptible to anything, just like a child.

"My deadline from the bastar—from Reagan is the next hour, so how about I phone him up and we'll see what he says?"

Jim nodded. "Do you want me to make you happy again, sir?"

Frank almost started smiling with joy when Jim was offering to suck his cock again. He didn't seem to feel any shame from it. The rational and logical side of his brain had been severely numbed by the drugs.

"Later, Jimmy." He never thought he'd be refusing an offer to get his dick sucked. Jim was truly going to be a wonderful pet to him.

His brought out his phone, practically beaming with how his plan was going.

Jimmy—his _pet,_ had agreed, _consented_ to donate his enamel to Reagan for his experiment.  
Regardless, it was going to hurt like a bitch, and it was likely Jimmy would be scared shitless of Frank when the procedure was over. But for now, he had a way to keep Jimmy and wasn't going to be turned in.

"Yeah, Reagan? It's Frank. I have the enamel for you, and he's sitting right in front of me."

"Yeah, I said enamel, not an animal, and yes he is sitting right in front of me."

"Yeah, he's giving me his consent."

"What? You want proof? You son of a-…" he paused, not wanting to confuse Jim. "Heh. Jimmy, tell Reagan here you give your consent."

Jim broke out into a grin and tried to lift his head towards the phone, "I agree to it!" he shouted childishly.

 _Jeez. He's not my Jimmy anymore. He's a kid, and not even the kid I knew. But oh well. He's mine now._

"See? He's all ready for you. Uh-huh. Yes he knows that it's going to be painfu—"

Luckily, Jim was too distracted whipping his head back and forth.

"Let's just say… I had a proposition for him. Yeah. WHAT?"

Jim jumped and started shaking. Frank smiled downwards at him and run his free fingers across Jim's lips. _Good boy,_ he mouthed.

"Yeah, coming down here in the next hour is perfectly fine" he spat through gritted teeth.

How the hell was he supposed to arrange that? They were not scheduled to land at a starbase for a whole month!

"Yeah, come in a shuttle. I'll think of something. What? Why do you—oh yeah. I'll speak to the idiot doctor here and see if I can rent out a dent—an office for you." Frank stopped himself before he finished the word _dental._ He didn't know how Jim would react.

"Uh-huh. I'll see you in an hour then."

He hung up the phone and glared down at Jim.

 _Shit. He's gonna arrive in an hour._

"Jimmy, I gotta make a call to your doctor friend, how do I get him here?"

Jim got so excited that every single clamp on the bed rattled at his sudden movement. "I can get him on my communicator! Will that make you happy?"

Frank sighed. "Yeah, Jimmy, it'll make me happy."

…

Half an hour later, and Jim's behaviour was starting to become a real problem for Frank. He was spewing out random bits of information he'd heard over the phone and didn't have the logic to keep it a secret.

"So, let me see the results of this session," McCoy asked, wanting solid proof that these appointments were actually helping Jim, what with his recent experiences.

"Yeah, here's the electro activity in his…" he tried to remember the name of the part of the brain that Reagan talked about, "Neocortex" he remembered, passing the PADD to him with the forged results Isaac had sent him.

Reagan was a surgeon, Isaac was a highly accomplished computer technician. He really did have the luck of the draw with his friends.

They both hated him for his sadistic thoughts though, whatever they were.

"I see. So, there's a small improvement in the parietal and temporal lobe, so at least there's some signs of progress." McCoy's smile turned into a frown, "How did you do it? You never consulted me."

Frank was silent for a few seconds while he came up with an excuse on the spot, "These are merely experiments, doc. I didn't know they'd worked until today when I got these results. Was gonna tell you after the appointment but you beat me to it!" he offered his best smile, and to his relief McCoy offered a smirk.

 _Good, he wasn't suspicious._

"What experiments are we talking about here? Show me the serum."

 _Fuck._ His hyposprays were in his bag—the bag full of the toys he forces into Jim.

"Sure, uh, let me get my bag." He very cautiously walked over, feeling all eyes were on him, then for good measure added, "These are just experiments though, it might turn sideways in a few hours."

McCoy gave a grunt of acknowledgement and waited for the serum.  
Jim was still at the slightly reclined angle on the bed, and McCoy was eying him constantly now.

While Frank was getting the serum, McCoy stepped over to Jim and brought out a penlight, waving it in front of Jim's eyes.  
He didn't scream and start squirming this time, just seemed completely oblivious to it.

But his eyes were reacting to stimulus just fine.

"Here ya go, doc," Frank gave him the hypospray, thanking his luck that McCoy was too distracted by Jim to see what was in his bag.

McCoy eyed the hypo and took out the vial, filled with blue tinted liquid. "And this is what you've been giving Jim?"

Frank nodded, hoping he wouldn't want to take it away and examine it. The drug was purely created for numbing a particular part of someone's brain, it wouldn't take long for him to realise what his true purpose here was.

McCoy slid the vial back into the hypo and handed it back to Frank, "This your only source?"

Frank nodded.

 _No, but you can't take it away if I have nothing to inject him with._

McCoy pursed his lips, "Fine, but create a sample for the labs to examine. If it turns out fine then I want the serum replicated to last three months at least, that clear?"

Frank had to physically stop himself from letting out a sigh of relief. "Okay, thanks doc."

McCoy shook his head, godknows why, and then went over to Jim.

"Hey buddy," he said, kneeling down to his level, "Hey, why is his head slightly reclined?"

 _Shit._

"He had a little dizzy episode, so I thought to recline his head back while I examined him. Didn't you Jimmy?"

Jim obviously had no recollection for this, but trusted Frank with his life, so nodded in agreement.

McCoy nodded, pulling an eyelid back and once again waving a penlight over his eyes, "Follow the light for me, Jim."

Jim's lower lip pouted. He was told about how horrible the doctor was by Frank, he didn't trust him. But after he turned his head to Frank for help, and saw his master just nodding his approval, Jim nodded to McCoy and followed the light.

"Okay… doin' real good kiddo," McCoy praised, waving it in the opposite direction. He wasn't able to do this yesterday, since all Jim did was squeeze his eyes shut and refuse.  
Apparently, this doctor had Jim wrapped around his little finger.

McCoy was glad that Schaidon and Jim were getting on so well.

"All good," the CMO announced to Frank's relief, standing to his feet. "Send the scans from today to me and fill out the forms for his progress."

Frank nodded again, wishing the doctor would just _leave._

He had an appointment with Reagan.

…

"I'm tellin' you, Spock, something ain't right here!" McCoy boomed, pacing around the room nervously. He had practically dragged Spock into his office the second he left the room with Schaidon.

"Doctor, there are signs of progress in the imagery, and Jim has stopped fighting when receiving treatment. My opinion in the matter is that you are, in frank terms, jealous."

McCoy spun around on the spot and stomped up to the Vulcan, " _Jealous?!"_ he exclaimed, scoffing and shaking his head, "Jealous? What of? That Schaidon has Jim wrapped around his finger?"

"No. Simply that the doctor discovered an antidote before you did. You are chief medical officer of the ship, and Doctor Schaidon created a treatment within three days. This must be detrimental to your confidence."

McCoy was on the edge of strangling the Vulcan on the spot.

Jealous. _Jealous?_ He, Doctor McCoy, chief medical officer of the Tin-Can Death-Machine Enterprise, _jealous_?

"There's somethin' wrong, Spock. I'm telling you. No-one comes on board for three days and figures out a cure. Yesterday Jim almost had a heart attack being in the room with him, and I'm not exaggerating, we had to restart his heart, damn it!"

Spock tilted his head. "I was informed by Nurse Chapel in my off time, as I had visited her for an update on Jim at approximately 2300 hours yesterday." Then he paused, and thought some more, "It is possible that the doctor took a more aggressive approach to Jim's condition, whereas we have, as you would say, been _babying_ him."

McCoy put a hand to his forehead, letting out a stressed breath and pacing some more, "What if he tortured him, Spock? What if that was why his heart was beating so damn fast? What if that was the aggressive approach?"

Spock folded his arms behind his back and visibly sighed, something he rarely did in the presence of other people, "Jim's next physical is scheduled tomorrow at 0800 hours, one hour before the appointment with Schaidon," he explained calmly, "I suggest that you enable the imaging logs for the isolation room after you have seen Jim for his physical. You will be able to record the events of what happens during the appointment with Schaidon."

McCoy frowned, but nodded slightly, agreeing with the idea, "Yeah. That's…that's actually a great idea, Spock, thank you."

The Vulcan merely offered a subtle bow of his head and took a step to the door, "If I may take my leave? I must return to duty in three point seven minutes."

McCoy waved his hand at him, "Yeah, yeah, whatever, thanks again."

The Vulcan left, leaving McCoy to ponder over the thoughts in his hand.

…

"Over here, Frankie, over here!" came over the communicator.

Frank turned in place in the shuttle bay, seeing Reagan hiding behind one of the container boxes. There were security guards everywhere, sneaking around was going to raise suspicions.

"Damn it, Reagan! Why the fuck are you hiding? I'll distract the security officer while you get out the shuttle bay." He slipped his communicator and turned to Jim, who was following behind him.

He looked up to him with his innocent blue eyes, "Frankie? Why does he call you Frankie?"

Frank almost scoffed, _is he really this god damn thick?_

"It's his nickname, like I call you Jimmy but your name is really James."

He nodded excitedly, "So can I call you Frankie, too?"

Frank sighed, "Not around here, you can't. I have a feeling your doctor friend knows my name."

Jim frowned, "But doctor McCoy is not my friend. He's angry at me all the time, just like you said."

Frank nodded, "Exactly, and he's frowning and angry all the time because of you, just like I said."

"Okay."

Jim didn't understand why Doctor McCoy was angry with him, but he trusted Frank.

…

Half way across the corridor and dodging a load of security guards, they were now in the turbolift to the 3rd floor.

"Frankie, I thought you were going to book the dental office? Why are we hiding?"

Frank almost slapped Reagan for mentioning it was a dental office. He felt Jim stand just a little bit closer to him, his shoulder next to his.

"I couldn't get one, I couldn't think of an excuse. We have to sneak our way in there. It's never used, at least that's what Jimmy said."

The doors hissed open.

The coast was clear.

Jim took the lead, being the only person who knew where the dental office was. He felt quite scared, why was he going to see the dentist? Did his breath smell?

"Frankie, who is my dentist?" Jim asked, turning back to look at Jim. Reagan caught up with him, "We're not going to see a dentist, I'm just here to do the procedure and that's it. I just needed the equipment."

Jim nodded, a little bit more happy now. Everyone was scared of the dentist, he knew that. But it wasn't a mandatory appointment for the Enterprise, thank god. Only physicals were.

He stopped outside a door, it had no label on it that would give away what the room was for, in fact it only had the room number "305" on it and that's it.  
Jim pointed at the door, and looked to Frank.

"Go ahead and get set up, Reagan, I have a feeling I need to talk to Jimmy, thanks to _you."_

Frank could _not_ have Jim being scared and refusing consent at this point. Without consent, Reagan would not do surgery, and without the enamel, Reagan threatened to throw him off the ship.

But he was not a fatherly figure.

"Now Jimmy, I want you to listen to me."

"Uh-huh."

"I want you to go in there and no matter what, you must give consent. You must not lash out, you must not start crying or do any of that shit that I saw yesterday, you must stay silent shut up on the chair while my friend Reagan works on you."

Jim's lip was quivering. He was really scared now.

"Will it make you happy?"

That seemed to be a common question. All he had to say was yes and Jim would probably jump off a bridge for him.

"Yeah."

"Okay!"

But Jim grabbed his hand—like a child did, and walked into the room with Frank.  
He stopped outside the door again.

"I'm scared."

Frank pulled his hand away from Jim, "Just go inside and do as I say you little shit!"

Jim practically ran inside before the doors finished opening without a word.

…

Inside the room was exactly how Frank had expected it. It looked like a dental office, except it was massive. Unnecessarily huge. And there was only one dental chair and 2 stools, one of which Reagan was currently occupying.

Reagan looked up and saw Jim sprinting in.

"Ah, Jim, come take a seat over here, I'm just getting ready."

Jim complied, knowing it was what Frank wanted. He tiptoed over to the chair, gave it a good scrutinizing stare, then jumped onto it, shuffling all the way back until his head was against the head-rest, sitting in an upright position.

Frank was leaning up against the wall, watching both of them in curiosity.

Reagan wheeled over a tray of instruments, and Jim felt a pit of anxiety in his stomach.  
He started snivelling.

He didn't want those tools in his mouth.

With a frustrated grunt, Frank came storming over, standing next to Jim. "What the hell's the matter now?"

"I don't want to do it anymore!"

A low angry huff came from Frank's mouth, and Reagan looked up at Jim's request.

If the patient didn't want the procedure, no matter how crooked he was as a surgeon (such as the fact he did all his procedures without anaesthetic, hence the pain)– he would not perform it.

"Reagan, give me the bag I had earlier."

Jim curled up in a ball in the chair, feeling his anxiety start to flood his system. Frank brought out a hypo from the bag Reagan gave to him, and forced Jim's head to the side with a yelp.  
The hypo was plunged into his neck.

"Give him five minutes and ask for consent again."

Reagan, confused, narrowed his eyes but shrugged, continuing to set up his equipment.

"I'm gonna lock the fuckin' door." Frank stormed off to the door to lock it with his officer credentials.

At this chance, Reagan turned to Jim, who was still curled up in the chair.

"Jim, be honest with me, do you want this procedure?"

Blue eyes lifted from the floor to the older man, there seemed to be some confusion in them.

"I don't know…"

"Do you know what it entails?"

"You want to take away my enamel so you can use it to save worlds."

Reagan was surprised at this, but assumed that was the way Frank worded it to get through to Jim. "Yeah, I suppose that's one way to put it."

"Then I want to do it" Jim said, the drugs kicking in again.  
Reagan nodded.

"I'll replace your enamel with a filling that matches the colour of your teeth so no-one knows what happened. There will be no anaesthetic. It's important that you don't tell anyone what we do today. Understand?"

Jim hastily nodded, feeling a lot more confident now the drugs were settling in.

At this point, Frank returned from ordering the door on lock down.

"He's consented," Reagan said, pressing a couple of buttons on the side of the chair. Frank gave a grunt of acknowledgement, and sat down on the stool beside Jim to watch.

The chair slowly started reclining, moving Jim to a flat position, much like he was when clamped down.  
He was now staring at the ceiling.

Then, hands started grabbing at his wrists and putting them on top of the arm rests, as Frank started locking him in place. Jim blinked slowly, although not very worried about it. Frank was doing it, so it was okay.

Reagan adjusted the light above Jim's head, turning it on and pulling his mask up. Frank approached from the side with a strange two strange looking contraptions.

"Open your mouth please," Reagan ordered, slightly muffled behind the mask.  
Jim obeyed.

"Put one retractor inside each cheek, I'll get a retractor to open his jaw."

Frank dug a cheek retractor inside both cheeks, while Reagan inserted two on each side of his jaw, effectively stretching his mouth as wide as it would possibly go.

"You know, I really appreciate you agreeing to do this, Jim," Reagan said, taking a small blue bag and placing it on the floor, a tube connected to it, Reagan hooked it on the inside of his mouth. All bits of enamel would get drained into the bag. "I seriously commend what you're sacrificing for this."

"Frankie, you might wanna leave," he warned, knowing how much pain Jim was going to be in.

"Nah, I want to stay and watch the show." He gave a sly smirk to Jim, who just looked at him happily.

"Okay, well, feel free to leave if it gets too much." He picked up a small electric drill and leaned over to the inside of Jim's mouth, "Starting from the right lower third molar," he switched on the handpiece, the highpitched squealing ringing in the air and watched Jim for any sign of hesitation. He seemed extremely happy.  
So he brought the drill down to the tooth, the whirring growing more intense as it vibrated against the tooth.

Instantly, Jim jumped in shock and grunted, beginning to kick his feet.

"Keep still, Jimmy" Frank muttered, wheeling over and pinning his legs down.

"Augg Ihh urrrsh!" he cried, trying to shift inside the restraints as the sound of the drill overwhelmed his ears. Bits of the tooth enamel broke off from the high-speed handpiece and was suctioned away to the bag.

Jim couldn't see anything but the older masked man hovering over him, who was squinting in deep concentration as he dug the drill into his tooth, moving the piece around and getting rid of all the enamel he could. His cringed and squeezed his eyes shut in the seat.

Then he suddenly stopped.

"What? Look at it, there's tons of enamel left!" he heard Frank shout.

"I know, it's taking too long, I'm changing handpieces,"

Frank grunted at then sat back on his PADD, Reagan picking up a new handpiece and then readjusting the light.

"Sorry about this, but it'll get it done faster."

Jim squinted his eyes in confusion ,"Agh aga ha—"

The drill rung in the air and was brought down to the tooth against.

This time he screamed.

"There we go, that's much better" he heard Reagan say, the noise impossibly loud to his ears.

Jim vibrated in the seat, the pain excruciating and the high-speed drill started hitting sensitive parts of his tooth. He screamed for him to stop and started kicking his legs, before Frank rammed another hypo into his leg.

Now he couldn't move his limbs.

"Okay, moving onto the lower right 1st molar," Reagan mumbled to himself, and began drilling all over again to the first molar.

The only thing Jim could do was scream in agony, his breaths coming in short gasps.

"'eease! 'eease! 'eease! 'eease!"

"So what'cha doing, Frankie?"

" 'hap! 'hap! 'hap! 'hap! 'eease! 'eease urr!"

"Just going over some… videos… that I recorded yesterday."

Reagan nodded, Jim crying as he felt the drill dig deeper into his tooth, cutting off the enamel that protected him. He felt his emotions, his feelings and thoughts flood back to him at once, every instinct in his body telling him to run, pounding his brain with the impulse to get away, as if it was all hidden away and by the drug and only just reaching his brain.

"Lower right bicuspid," and once again the drill broke away the surface of another tooth, a scream tore out from his mouth that even got Frank glancing up.

"Damn, that sounds like it really hurts."

"Yeah, I keep hitting the nerves trying to get everything."

The drill was moved away for a second as the light was readjusted to directly over his mouth, before the loud high-pitched whine returned, "Lower right cuspid."

Jim screamed louder than he'd ever done with his sessions with Frank. He was sure he was going to lose his voice as his body trembled from the force of the screaming.  
The drill whined as it broke off the surface of the tooth at the gumline at an angle.

 _I want to die I want to die I want to die I want to die…_

 _Let me die please please please…_

"Lower left lateral and central."

Jim's eyes rolled back in his head as he passed out from the pain.

…

…..

"I thought you locked the door?"

"It is locked! I did it before you started!"

"Then why is it making that noise?"

"It's a request to open it!"

"Then open it!"

"I can't! It's McCoy!"

"Open the damn door, Frankie!"

"I can't, he doesn't know Jim's in here!"

" _What?!"_

"I told you the damn room isn't booked!"

"Fuck! What do we do, I'm half way through the right side of his mouth!"

"Uh… okay, stuff something in his mouth to quiet him and keep the drill going on in the background"

"What? Why?"

"Just do it for fuck sake! Do it!"

Jim, in a haze of confusion, heard rummaging and then something being stuffed between his teeth. He let out a whimper as the pressure caused pain.

….

"Doctor McCoy! How can I help you?" Frank exclaimed in fake surprise, opening the door to find his doom standing in front of him.

McCoy tried to get a peek inside but the door was only slightly opened due to Frank obstructing it.

"Hey, uh, Schaidon, can I come in?"

Frank blinked and tried to gather words in a panic, "Uh, no! My patient was absolutely clear about not letting anyone else in the room and I have to go by his wishes."

"Uh huh," McCoy mumbled, "Listen, I've been getting reports to my office from this floor about the sound of someone screaming. Know anything about this?"

Frank laughed nervously."Why? You think we're holding someone hostage?"

McCoy smirked, "I don't know are you? I can't hear anything…"

Frank shifted legs that blocked the doorway, "I don't hear anyone screaming do you? I mean there's the drill but that's it."

McCoy sighed and dropped his shoulders.

"This room is never used, doc," he remembered Jim saying, "You sure they weren't pranking you?"

McCoy glared up at him, "They damn well better not be!"

"I don't know doc, we're all fine in here, the patient is asleep." _I mean that's not a lie, he passed out from the pain but the doc doesn't need to know that._

"Those god damn sons of bitches! They think this is a game! I'll show _them_ what pain sounds like!" and with that, the CMO stormed off.

With a sigh of relief, Frank drew himself back into the office and let the door slide shut.

"We good?" he heard Reagan say over the dental drill.

"Yeah, there's been reports of screaming coming from here but I managed to convince him they were toying with him."

"Ah…" Reagan acknowledged. The sound of the drill continued to ring in the air for another ten seconds before it stopped.

"Need to move onto the upper teeth now, Frankie I need to open his mouth wider so I can get a better look, can ya give your man a hand?"

"Sure, sure, I know a thing or two about getting his mouth to open," he chuckled, stomping over to the chair. Jim's eyes were slits, half open and half closed. He took the ball that was supposed to be used for his toys out of his mouth and sat on the stool.

"What you need me to do?"

"I'm gonna tilt his head back a little, hold on," Reagan pressed a button on the control panel and Jim's head instantly started tilting to the point where his head was now diagonal to the ground.

"Okay, press the top button on the jaw retractors to extend how far it goes," Reagan said, adjusting overhead light to position above Jim's mouth again.

As Jim's jaw was forced open wider, the kid let out a strained groan from his muscles being stretched past their limits.

"Not too much or you'll pop the bone out of its socket. Yeah that's enough."

"'uuuuurts" Jim whined through the gag.

"Yeah, I know, just doing your top teeth and we'll be done." Reagan says, pulling his mask up and turning the drill on again, the shrill noise resounding around the room. "Upper right third molar."

Jim whined loudly as he anticipated the pain—agony shot through every nerve in his tooth the second the drill touched the surface. He squealed and cried out in agony.

"Whoa, have you seen the enamel bag?" Frank exclaimed, suddenly realising how much had fallen in. You'd think that there'd only be a small amount of enamel being collected considering how small teeth were.

"Yep, there's a lot Frankie," Reagan murmured, drilling the pockets of the molar again.

"How many teeth are you gonna drill?"

"I was only going to do the molars, but I've decided to do all of them. Not much left to go…Upper right second Bicuspid."

The shrill noise rang in Jim's ears. His screaming had got to the point where his throat was burning, no noise could come out anymore. He'd been screaming almost constantly for two hours. He shut his eyes and vibrated in his seat, nothing but pure terror wracking his body, a constant stream of tears running down his face.

"Upper right lat…."

He fell unconscious again.

….

….

"Are…filling…yet?"

"…Four…lower….left…"

Jim started coming back to his senses. The drilling had stopped, but there was a massive throbbing pain in every corner of his mouth. Upon opening his eyes, he gathered that they still weren't done with the procedure as the doctor was still bent over him with tools stuck in his mouth.

Jim blinked, and suddenly the man was sitting up, speaking to Frank who had also appeared. How much time had gone?

"Seriously Frankie, I can't thank you enough for bringing James here. It wasn't pleasant at all but now I have tons of enamel to test my experiment out on."

"Nah, it's alright, it wasn't like you was gonna rat me out if I didn't."

Both men laughed with each other. Reagan was about to stand up before Frank had called out to him.

"Oh Reagan! One more favour?"

"Yeah?"

"I have this implant here, I totally forgot to ask but I didn't have time to insert it into his brain when I first caught him. I mean I couldn't do it anyway because I've no idea where to put it."

"You want me to insert it?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

"Okay, show me what it is?"

He heard Frank rummage around in his bag for a few seconds before the sound of metal was scraping out of the box. "Here. At the moment I'm using hyposprays to numb his neocortex, that's what you said it was anyway, that implant is supposed to permanently shut down that area of his brain."

Reagan took it from him and hummed as he looked at it. "Sure thing Frankie. It's small so should only take a couple of minutes. Help me position his head and I'll do it."

He felt two pairs of hands latch onto his head.

"Where'd you want him?"

"Just turn his head to the side, like this," he felt his head being moved. It was a weird position and it made his neck ache. In fact, everything was aching right now.

"Okay, you with me?"

Jim moaned through the gag.

"Right, well I'm putting this clamp on your head so you don't move, unless you really want some proper brain damage, in that case keep squirming."

Jim released another moan and shut his eyes as his head was secured.

He heard he and Frank murmur something between each other, not being able to understand what, until he felt something cold, metal, press against the side of his head next to his ear.

Then seconds later, the sound of yet another drill rang in the air and soon the pain radiating through his skull took him exactly six seconds to deal with before he passed out again.

….

"All done."

He opened his eyes.

"Whaa…?" the gag was gone.

"It's going to take another hour before the chemical reacts with the chemical you injected into his stomach a few months ago—it's still producing it right?"

"Yeah," he heard Frank say, "McCoy said it's been producing it for months."

"Alright, well you'll notice a permeant change in a few days, but until then keep using the hypos."

Jim blinked slowly. He was so tired.

"Frankie, I gotta speak to you alone for a sec. I wanna make sure you know exactly what that implant has done to him."

Jim heard an annoyed grunt before both men took off to the other side of the large room.  
Wiggling his legs and tensing his arms, he realised he was no longer restrained.

 _Now's my chance. Now's my chance!_

He eyed the door in the distance. It was only a few seconds away. If he could just get up…

He sat up rigidly, and had to stop himself from screaming at the pain radiating through his skull. His mouth was absolutely torturing him, as if every single nerve was engulfed in flames. His head was giving him splitting nauseous pain.

"Oi! Jim lay back down, that's dangerous!"

 _Fuck._

 _It's now or never._

Jumping up and almost stumbling at his blurred vision, Jim took advantage of the distance between he and the men and slid off the bed shakily, darting instantly towards the door without thinking.  
His legs were like jelly, feeling like they were about to collapse under him.

But a rational side of his brain—probably for the last time, was screaming _run. Run. Run. For fuck sake, run._

Jim ran anywhere—everywhere he could. He couldn't _feel_ his legs, he was just moving, running, he didn't know where, just running.

He didn't know how long for.

Until a loud shrill beep – it was the intercom.

A voice roared into his ear.

"This is acting Captain Spock, we have received intel that Captain Kirk has escaped confinement and is extremely violent. Locate and restrain Captain Kirk, stun him if necessary." The intercom beeped again.

Jim rammed his hands over his ears, every single noise—every footstep radiating deafeningly into his skull.

He wanted it to end.

He just wanted it to end.

* * *

I hope I made you cringe at some point, hahaha :D

Please do anything to help me realise you're reading this, even if it means commenting an image of a chair.

* * *

 **Next Chapter** : Jim manages to escape and tries to seek out help, but his quickly numbing mind starts conflicting with his reasoning.


	10. Chapter 10

_"This is acting Captain Spock, we have received intel that Captain Kirk has escaped confinement and is extremely violent. Locate and restrain Captain Kirk, stun him if necessary." The intercom beeped again._

 _Jim rammed his hands over his ears, every single noise—every footstep radiating deafeningly into his skull._

 _He wanted it to end._

 _He just wanted it to end._

* * *

McCoy sat in his office with a shot of brandy, his off-hours creating a multitude of boredom—no, a multi _universe_ of boredom.

He did however have a ton of paperwork sitting on his desk that was equally as lonely and unproductive as the doctor, but he chose to ignore it. He should probably try to get some sleep. He thought that the brandy would help him with it, but apparently not.

All of a sudden, the ship-wide channel alarm sounded twice, and McCoy put down his glass.

 _God, what now._

He sat down literally 5 minutes ago.

"This is Acting Captain Spock, we have received intel that Captain Kirk has escaped confinement and is extremely violent. Locate and restrain Captain Kirk, or stun him if necessary."

The room fell silent again.

Bones threw his head onto the desk and hissed,

 _Shit._

Looks like he was about to embark in a less than exciting adventure to hunt down his Captain. Or his patient. Probably his patient the way things were going.

He marched out of his office and headed straight for Nurse Chapel. If there was any competent officer that he could rely on to accompany him in hide and seek with a patient, it was her.

"Chris," he called while walking over, Chapel turning around, "You heard the comm, right?"

She nodded, continuing to grab a medkit, "Yep, I have Boyce holding the fort, I was gonna help find him. I don't know what would happen if another unsuspecting crew member found him while he's in the state of mind he's been in lately."

That was true. Jim was acting like an oblivious child walking into a stranger's car.

Quite literally.

"I'm coming with you, I know how to deal with him."

Both of them grabbed their own medkits and stormed out the doors, almost knocking into someone who tried to enter.

Chapel turned to McCoy, "Where would a child hide if they were scared?"

He thought for a second, considering what Joanna would do. Jim's mental age was probably even younger than hers at this point.

"Somewhere isolated."

…

Jim bolted through another corridor—where was he? Why wasn't there any signs? He swore there were signs, just like where he lived back in… Iowa… with Frank…

Frank had betrayed him, pinned him to a chair and let the other doctor, who he claimed to be his _friend,_ take away his enamel, and it really hurt.  
He felt a tickle on his chin, and he stopped running for a second to wipe his mouth—someone had just turned a corner—they looked at him—they found him!

"Captain! Captain Kirk, come here at once!"

He inhaled harshly and darted around another corner, having no idea where he was going.  
Looking at his hands, he saw blood. He wondered if he had cut himself again. Frank whipped him really bad in every single appointment, but he said it was to make him the perfect pet.

Jim was admittedly quite excited for this, he wanted a pet so bad. Frank was making a pet for him by smacking him really hard, but that was okay, because Jim really wanted a pet.

Suddenly—Jim cried out in distress and fell onto his knees, cradling his head in his hands and squeezing his skull as hard as he could, as if it would make the pain disappear. Agony ripped through his head, sending him writhing and screaming like a kid having a tantrum on the floor.

He needed it to end. He wanted it to end so badly. He wanted to make the pain go away forever.

Struggling to catch his breath from hyperventilating, Jim, shaking like a leaf, pressed his hands against the wall and stood up, his vision blurry and distorted.  
He walked down the first corridor he saw, feeling nothing but pain, so much that the only thing Jim could do was let out weak moans as he stumbled along the floor, his arms cuddling his head as he tried to find a way out.

Every second that passed felt like another pin being lodged into his skull. He moaned out loud again as another wave of agony over took him, almost stumbling over from the momentary weakness before clamouring the wall, keeping himself upright.

Up ahead, he saw a closed door to a room, which was probably one of the only rooms on the ship that wasn't outfitted with a million glass windows.  
Such invasion of privacy… such… anxiety…

He fell into the door, whimpering as it asked for voice authorisation.

"K-kirk," he stuttered out, his body feeling so weak he was sure he was about to collapse.  
The door opened in time, and Jim faltered inside the second that the acceptance beep sounded, instantly falling onto a sofa.

He curled up into a ball, clasping his head in his hands, his entire body trembling and vibrating against the sobs that wracked him. He didn't feel like he could calm down. The pain was constant, and it was getting worse.

 _I want to die I want to die I want to die…_

 _Please please please I want to die how do I die please I can't take this anymore please please…_

 _I'm so confused I'm so fucking confused where am I… why did Frank hurt me so much I don't understand… it hurts…. It hurts… it's still hurting… so fucking bad, it hurts…hurts…hurts…_

Jim heard the authorisation acceptance beep again, and he cried out in anguish as the door hissed open, curling in on himself even tighter, hiding his face, suddenly aware of the blood he could feel trickling out of his lips. Had Frank punched him really hard on the nose again?

"Hey, sweetheart," he heard a woman's voice coo at him sweetly, footsteps approaching the coach.

 _Please go away please go away please go away._

He couldn't find the real words; all he could do was sob.

And sob.

And sob.

And sob.

And with every sob, his mouth twitched, and with every twitch, another stroke of agony ripped his body to pieces.

"What's going on, Jim?" he felt the sofa dip, the sound of someone shuffling closer.

A hand on his back. He flinched. There was silence. Clearly the woman was offended.

But the hand returned, although gentler. He tried his hardest not to react.  
The fingers started rubbing circles into his back, and faintly under his own crying he could hear someone quietly shushing him, trying to get him to calm down.

He wanted to calm down, he really did, but he couldn't take it. It hurt so much. He wanted to stab himself in the mouth, rip out every fucking piece of flesh of bone in his body and make it _stop._

"Can you sit up for me sweetheart?"

Jim snivelled and shook his head. He didn't want to move from his position of being curled into a ball.

Then, another wave of agony. He suddenly tensed up and shook violently, screaming into his curled arm at the piercing pain in the base of his skull until it dulled down again.

"Come on sweetie, sit up for me."

Jim's lips trembled as he tried to form the right word.

"N-n-n-n-no…. nnn-o…"

The hand disappeared from his back, and for some reason he felt the hole in his stomach expand. But it reappeared on his head, fingers gently brushing through his hair.

"Staying all curled up in the ball is gonna make your back hurt! Come sit up for me, you can lean on me instead."

Weeping, Jim decided he didn't want to make the pain worse than it already is. A back ache would just top it all off.

So, slowly, he tried to order his muscles to move, but he just let out a strained grunt, falling into a half-ball and started to cry again.

He was useless.

"Oh, sweetheart…" he heard, feeling a pair of hands wrap around his torso, "Okay on three, ready?"

Jim sucked in a breath, "U-u-uh h-h-huh"

"One… two…. _Thhhree!"_

The woman hauled Jim upright, another yell of distress escaping his lips. Without even looking to see who it was, he turned and slammed his head repeatedly against the woman's shoulder, trying to get the pain to go away.

"Woah—hey, hey, okay Jim, no—stop, Jim," his attempts to die by shoulder were halted as he was suddenly pushed away at arms-length, the hands gripping on either side of his shoulders tightly.

When she didn't say anything else, Jim glanced up through his shuddering breaths to see who it was. It was of course Christine Chapel.

Then before his brain could process anything else, a pulse of agony shot through his scalp, and he tried to curl in on himself, his mouth gaping as he tried to scream but no sound came out.

"What's the matter sweetheart? Did someone hurt you?"

When the pain dulled down a bit, he glanced up again to face her and nodded.  
He felt another tickle running down his chin, but before he could touch it, Chapel was wiping it away for him.

"Where're all this coming from?" she asked, wiping the rest of his mouth from the blood stains all over it.

Through sheer determination, Jim took a deep shaky breathing and attempted to speak,  
"A m-a-ah-ahn h-h-hu-hurt m-m-m-me,"

Chapel pulled him closer, until his head was resting on her shoulder, "A man hurt you, sweetie?"  
She felt him nod against her shoulder. She rubbed circles into his back, trying to calm the blonde down from his constant state of shaking and crying. He seemed to be in pain but didn't know where.

"You're bleeding quite a bit, did he hit you?"

Jim nodded again, "Uh-huh,"

"And you ran away from him? Where were you?"

Jim snivelled. He didn't want to remember where he was or what they were doing.  
Recent memories surfaced of being strapped to the chair with his mouth forced open while they spent three whole hours causing him constant excruciating pain, ignoring his crying and talking amongst themselves… his shaking went up a notch, and he felt Chapel's arm grip him tighter.

Frank was always nice to him. He only wanted to make him happy. Frank would give him rewards as long as he would make him happy first. He trusted Frank when he said that his enamel would be taken away, and he never mentioned that it would hurt.

"Fr-fra-frank lied to m-me" Jim wept, squeezing his eyes shut as another wave of pain coursed through his head.

"Frank? He was here?"

"Uh-h-hu-huh."

Christine knew that Jim had been hallucinating Frank for the past couple of months, so she didn't know what to say apart from go along with it. It would be difficult to pin down the person who did this if all he saw was Frank every time someone was hurting him.

"Okay," she muttered, moving Jim back a bit so that he was facing her, "Should we go and see Doctor McCoy?"

Jim let out a breath and pondered this for a bit. Frank told him that McCoy hated him and was always angry because of him. Yet Frank had lied to him and hurt him a lot, so he didn't know what to think of McCoy.

"D-does he wa-wa-want to see m-me?"

"Of course he does sweetheart, he's been worried sick about you!"

Jim sniffed and stared towards the ground. He remembered the alarm going off in the corridor as he was escaping from the office, alerting everyone on the ship that he had escaped and needed to be found and restrained. But why wasn't Christine restraining him?

Would McCoy restrain him?

"What will he d-d-do t-t-t-t-" he inhaled sharply, "Wha-what will h-h—"

"What will he do to you?" Chapel interrupted, knowing what he was trying to say.  
Jim glanced up to her again.

"He'll just want to have a chat with you, I want to have a chat with him, too."

Jim nodded, then screwed his eyes shut again, tears pricking at his eyes, "My h-h-head h-u-hurts!"

"I know, that's why we're going to see him so he can fix your head."

Jim wrapped his arms around himself protectively, but nodded.

"Come on, let's go see if we can find him," she coaxed, gently gripping his wrists and standing up from the sofa. Jim followed suit, standing up after her and immediately grabbing her hand like a scared child.

She didn't try to pull him away, knowing that at this point in time, Jim was very likely to have the mentality of a child, though not entirely sure the reason for the behaviour.

…

McCoy darted back into sickbay like a man on a mission. Lieutenant Sanscrat reported seeing Kirk in the corridor before running off in the other direction and losing him, he and Chapel had been searching for him for an hour and yet came up with nothing.

There's some a ship-wide search taking place where every section of the ship was looking for him, and that had never happened before. Every single crew member had gone out of their way to search the decks, the recreational areas and even their own quarters for this man, when usually a 'ship-wide search' meant 'tell us if you spot him while on the job'.

Sighing, he flopped down on his office chair and buried his head in his hands. Duty started in two hours and he hadn't had a single wink of sleep. The brandy from earlier was staring at him, willing him, enticing him to pick it up and get drunk. But he couldn't walk around smelling if alcohol when he was on the job.

Suddenly, his PADD pinged four bleeps to alert him of a new message. Taking less than a second to pick up the device, he opened the message.  
It was from Christine.

 _I've got him.  
He's with me now but he's in a bad way.  
Bleeding from someplace, I think it's from the mouth, said he was hit by Frank.  
Coming to your office so please be there.  
Like I said, he's terrified and shaking, try to be gentle with him because he has the mentality of a five-year-old.  
Something is very wrong.  
-Christine Chapel._

McCoy shoved the PADD away and pursed his lips.  
 _Shit._ In a bad way? What the hell had happened to him?

The door comm notified him of a presence requesting entry, he immediately accepted it.

In came Jim Kirk, bleeding from the mouth, shaking like a damn leaf and being practically dragged in the room by a very stressed looking Nurse Chapel.

He got up from his chair and cautiously circled his way towards him, as if trying not to frighten an animal.

"Hey kid," he greeted gently, noting the kid retreating backwards towards the door, "You wanna take a seat over there?" he gestured towards the sofa, much like the office Chapel had.

Jim glanced up to Chapel, subtly seeking permission to _sit down._ She nodded and guided him towards the sofa, delicately sitting him down and holding a hand up to McCoy to wait until he got comfortable. She kneeled on the floor in front of him, placing a hand on his knee to try and get him to feel as in control as possible.

 _My god. He's bleeding badly, Chris, I need to get to him._

Chapel waited until Jim's eyes stopped frantically darting around the room.  
"You want to tell the Doctor about the pain you're feeling?"

Jim's hand reached down to the hand on his leg, squeezing it hard as if trying to get reassurance.  
Slowly, McCoy made his way over to Jim, kneeling next to Chapel so that both doctors were kneeling in front of Jim while he sat on the sofa.

"He's been bleeding from his mouth for a while," Chapel whispered to McCoy, who nodded and glanced over to the medkit that was a few inches away.

"Jim, I'm gonna reach over here and get the medkit, alright?" he explained softly, trying not to spook the kid. Thankfully he received a nod in reply—hesitant, but it was there.

He leaned over and grabbed the kit, placing next to him and cracking it open.  
Jim's shaking turned up a notch when he realised more people who considered themselves as doctors were going to have their hands on him.

McCoy brought something out the box, and instantly Jim froze, his breath hitching as his mind flashed back to the trauma he experienced just hours ago.

 _He lay paralysed to the chair while a doctor leaned over him, shoving the handpiece yet again into his mouth, the high-pitched squeal sending him panting in panic before the pain overwhelmed his system. The overhead light hurting his eyes, making his vulnerability clear as the spotlight was on his mouth. The drill dug into his molar, feeling the vibration against his gum as he heard the sound of tooth breaking off and being sucked away. He wanted to move, to escape, but his body had been drugged by a relaxant that left him paralysed and vulnerable. After the drill dug deeper into the tooth, he let out a horrifying cry that would have been heard down all the corridors._

"Jim? Jim! Hey!"

He gasped and flailed in the seat, both doctors reaching out and trying to settle him.

"It's alright, Jim, it's alright," McCoy ushered, remaining amazingly patient with the man, "You zoned out on us there."

Jim blinked slowly, noticing the instrument in McCoy's hand and started gasping and curling in on himself again.

"Don-don't hu-hurt me ag-ag-again p-p-p-pl-please, I-I-I sw-swear I w-w-will b-be g-g-g-good…"

McCoy frowned, feeling immense hatred, for whoever had traumatised him like this.

"We're not going to hurt you, sweetie," Chapel gently reassured him, "We just want to help you feel better."

McCoy put down the scanner, managing to get some kind of results from the distance he was at.

"Chris, I need to look at his mouth." McCoy whispered harshly. There were signs of nerve damage and several areas of bleeding from deep inside the gums.

Chapel sighed, offering a smile to Jim, trying to think of a way he could get Jim to comply to this.

"The medication we put him on?"

"Out of the question right now."

She nodded, then tried another tactic.

"Jim, your mouth is hurting a lot, right?"

A quick nod.

"You want the pain to go away?"

Another nod.

"Can you let doctor McCoy here take a look at it so he knows how to make it stop?"

Jim's gaze fell to McCoy. Something in this doctor's eyes was so much more sincere that the doctor friend that Frank had.

"Bones?" he just about managed to squeak out. Bones' lips formed into a gentle smile.

"Yeah, kid?"

"Can you be really really really careful not to make it hurt worse?"

McCoy stopped himself from sighing in relief, nodding and taking a pair of latex gloves from the medkit, "If you can handle it long enough I can ease the pain a little bit."

 _There's no easy way to completely dull the agony the kid is in right now, but as long as he gets some relief…_

Jim grabbed Chapel's hand again, who of course didn't mind offering him any comfort he could get, and slouched back on the sofa.

McCoy pulled himself up and sat beside Jim, whipping the gloves on and waiting for the kid's slight panicking to die down.

"After this we can go get you some food, if you'd like?" Chapel offered, trying to distract Jim from what was likely to be a very difficult exam.

Jim's eyes slightly brightened at that, liking the sound of food right now. He hadn't eaten for a whole day.

"Chris, hand me the tongue decompressor," he said calmly, trying not to startle Jim.

"You fancy having a hamburger?" Chapel asked him, passing the tongue decompressor to McCoy.  
Jim nodded hastily; McCoy pretty much never let him eat such food, but his smile let him know he would let him get away with it.

"We can go grab anything you want, Jim, right after this," McCoy counselled, poking the decompressor light-heartedly on Jim's lip, "Open up for me, kiddo."

At that, just as he expected, Jim froze up on the spot and started whining again. He gently wrapped an arm around Jim's back, trying to get him to calm down, holding the tool in the other.

"I know, I know, but we're not them, we just want to help," he murmured, referring to the doctors that hurt him.  
Jim snivelled, glancing down at the innocent, non-invasive piece of plastic in McCoy's hand and very timidly opened up.

"There you go," Chapel encouraged, squeezing his hand for comfort as McCoy stuck the decompressor in his mouth.

McCoy tried his best not to frown, but after a couple of seconds, what he saw all but horrified him. Every single one of his teeth had been filled, there was tiny uneven pieces of enamel littered around his mouth, and almost his entire top set of teeth was stained red. His gums were swollen and inflamed—perhaps an infection?

"Jim," McCoy asked gently, "How many fillings have you had in your life?"

Jim lifted one finger.

 _Shit. Some bastard has filled every single one of them and destroyed all of the enamel._

"Okay," he smiled encouragingly, "Hand me the third vial from the right and give me the hypospray," he ordered to Chris, taking the decompressor out of his mouth and dropping it into a sanitizing bag.

Jim closed his mouth immediately, becoming disheartened when he realised McCoy still wanted him to open it again.

"Just another second Jim, this is an anti-inflammatory with a strong pain reliever."

Jim surprisingly didn't put up a fight at the offer of some pain relief and did what he said.  
He flinched at the sting settling into his cheek, before the pain around the root of his teeth started to fade out.

"That better?" McCoy asked, noticing the kid relaxing a little now.  
Jim mumbled a quiet "Mhm" before letting go of Chapel's hand.

She stood up, glancing down at his still slightly shaky form before turning to McCoy,  
"Do you have a pillow in here?"

"Uh, I'm presuming you mean a pillow that I don't use for my bed, if that's the case then there's one shoved under the sofa."

Chapel nodded bending down and tugging it out from under the sofa, "Why's the pillow under the sofa for?" she chuckled, throwing it on the edge of the furniture and plumping it a little.

"In case someone comes in here and thinks I'm sleeping on the job or something."

Chapel rolled her eyes, when do they ever actually get a break from the job in the first place?

"You can lie down if you want Jim, I'll go get you some blankets and you can have a little nap."

Jim nodded eagerly at this, dropping himself onto the pillow and stretching his legs out a bit.  
Chapel returned with the blankets, throwing it over him.  
Jim heaved the blankets over himself so tightly that he looked like a burrito.

Smiling, Chapel turned to McCoy, who was absent-mindedly gazing concerned at him.

"What the hell are we gonna do, Chris?" he mumbled quietly so that Jim couldn't hear him, "That damage needs to be fixed or the pain is never going to stop. In fact, the infection will probably get worse."

Chapel shook her head, watching Jim look comfortable for the first time in ages, "Honestly? I don't know. We have to get the medication back in him soon too, before he spirals out of control again," she explained, "But for now, let's just let him sleep. We can deal with everything else tomorrow."

Bones nodded his agreement, his eyes following Chapel as she went for the door.  
"Night," she called back, before the doors hissed open and shut.

McCoy sighed, quietly placing the medkit on the side-table next to the sofa, just in case Jim needed it.  
He probably wouldn't, but who could blame him for being over-protective?

…

 ** _3 hours later._**

It was pitch blank inside the office, and Jim was pretty sure McCoy had finally managed to fall asleep as the bedroom door had stopped opening every five minutes.

Only problem was, _he_ couldn't sleep. The events of today played back in his head, over and over again, along with other unwelcome thoughts such as _am I ever going to get my captaincy back?_

He knew that the crew, especially McCoy and Spock, were in talks with Starfleet about what had happened and were scheduled to arrive there in a few days.

"Jim?"

Kirk jumped, slamming a hand instinctively on the arm rest—not like that would do anything against Frank.  
But of course, it wasn't Frank.

"Hey, why the hell you still awake? It's two in the morning."

Jim shrugged, "I was gonna ask you the same question, Bones."

He couldn't see anything from the darkness, but he heard footsteps, and then felt Bones kneel down in front of the sofa, placing a hand on his knee. Luckily, he didn't flinch away.

"Having trouble sleeping, huh?" he asks, reaching for something on the table behind him—ah yes, a med-kit, how could he even consider that it was something else?

"Don't use that as an excuse to hypo me" Jim mumbled, tucking his arms under his chest. He'd only just managed to calm himself down to a point where he could think clearly. He wasn't sure if it was the crying that had helped clear his mind or if it was the lack of medication.

"Uh-huh, well I'm not having you looking like this when we arrive at the starbase, they'll think I'm neglecting you" Bones retorted, instantly jabbing a hypo into Jim's neck before he could relax.

"Bones!" Jim yelled, "I'm feeling better! You've probably just made it worse!"

The doctor scoffed, "Pfft, it's only a sedative, but at least you ain't shaking like a leaf anymore," then he paused, "Come to think of it, you're acting much more lucid now. Huh."

Jim watched amused as McCoy attempted to solve the calculations in his head which would crack the _Jim Kirk is suddenly acting like an adult_ equation before the sedatives started working his way into his body.

 _Not this time._

"Hmm… M'gnna fight th' sed'tive…" Jim slurred, willing his drooping eyes to stay open.  
McCoy patted him on the back.

"'Course you are. I'll see ya in the morning, kid."

"…Nnnope...staying awake…see…not sleepy…at all…"

"Damn it, close your damn eyes!"

"Nahhh…not sleepy…I can stay here alllll daaaay…"

"And here I thought you were gettin' lucid again."

"…Hmm…told you that sed'tive was bad idea, B'nes…"

"Like hell it was. Now close your eyes before I stab you with another one!"

It only took that sentence for Jim to shut up and never utter another word for the rest of the night. Perhaps it was a good idea to get some sleep after all.

Besides, didn't he have an appointment with Schaidon tomorrow?

* * *

A/N: So that's the cute lil friendship comfort fic and less of the actual hurting. For now. Muahaha. :)

 **Next Chapter:** The pieces begin to fall together about Frank, so he makes a quick leap decision to make sure that Jim is his and his alone, forever.


	11. Chapter 11

Hey guys, so sorry for the late update. Uni assignments appeared out of no-where and I lost motivation for writing.

But here you go, enjoy! :)

* * *

McCoy was happily asleep in his room, with Jim asleep on the sofa. Much like the academy days.

Finally, there was some sense of normality.

His shift started in an hour, so Jim had to be moved back into his isolated room sadly, as there was no one able to watch him.

 ** _BANG!_**

Bones jolted awake, bolting up instantly at the noise that sounded like something falling... it came from the next room.

Jumping out of bed, he snatched his medkit and ran to the door, half expecting Jim to be unconscious or seizing.

But no. It was the absolute opposite.

"What the hell are you doing?" Bones demanded, glaring down at Jim laying with his back against the floor.

He blinked sheepishly.

"My shirt fell off the bed..." he grinned, not bothering to change to a more comfortable position.

"Uh huh."

"I was in it..."

"I see that." Bones sighed, throwing the medkit on the sofa and kneeling down to Jim's level, "How you feelin' kiddo?" he frowned, noticing Jim's dazed look.

"Jus' grrreat...!" Jim half-growled, his head rolling to the side.

"Yeah, I see that too," he mumbled sarcastically, "How'd you fall out of bed?"

"Uhh..." it was obvious Jim wasn't thinking straight, "I rolled off the side of the bed and fell onto the floor."

McCoy wanted to smack him upside the head. Jim always used humour as a way to mask his frustration.

"Your bio-readings are off," McCoy reported, running the scanner over him, "Ridiculously off."

His heart rate was increasing.

"Jus' fell off th' bed..." Jim slurred, his head whipping stressfully from side to side, "I fell off th' bed...I fell...off the bed..."

"Jim."

"I...fell and rolled off...onto the floor, Bones I fell onto the floor!"

"Jim! Calm down!" McCoy urged, watching the readings spiral out of control. He noticed the kid's breathing becoming laboured, and frankly it looked like he was walking himself into a panic attack.

"Bones..." Jim slurred the word out as if it was made to roll off his tongue, "Bones..."

"I'm here, kid, what's wrong?" McCoy shuffled closer and hovered the small scanner over the blonde's head.

"Don't feel too good, Bones..."

Well, he had to feel pretty damn bad to admit he needed help.

"Hmmm..."

That's a great help.

"Hmm what?"

Jim chuckled and flopped his head to the other side.

"Hmm..."

Damn it. He's regressing back to the childlike state he was in before. What the hell for?

"Jim, how the hell am I supposed to help you if you don't tell me the problem?"

Jim however seemed completely oblivious to his own ridiculousness.

He broke out into a massive grin and started humming to himself.

"Hmmm...hmm!"

What the fuck?

"Jim for god sakes-"

"Booones!" A hand walloped onto McCoy's leg.

He narrowed his eyes and ran through a list of symptoms in his head.

Dissociative identity disorder seemed like a likely suspect. One minute he was his Jim again and the next he was less damn intellectual than his five-year-old daughter.

"Bones?" Jim blinked sluggishly, "I wanna...wanna see Frankie," his exhaustion was evident in the drooping eyelids.

But there was only one idea who this 'Frankie' could be…

"Frankie?" He hoped it wasn't who he thought it was. His damn fucked up step dad...

"I wan' Frankie back, B'nes..."

"You ain't getting him back, Jim, I'll make sure of that."

But the kid made a childish screech, "I want Frankie!"

"What are you, three?" He got to his feet and grabbed a hypo from the med kit, slotting the vial inside and ignoring Jim's pathetic kicking on his sofa.

"For crying out loud, sit still!" Bones exclaimed, pinning Jim's head to the side and jamming the hypo into his neck before his brain could process it.

Jim sluggishly tilted his head back to find him, "Wazzat?"

Bones glanced down for a second at Jim's curious eyes and brought his attention back to the hypo. He didn't know why he was holding it, he just didn't want to look at the kid for some reason.

"Bones?" Jim prompted when he got no answer.

"What? Oh, it's a sedative."

Jim squirmed for a second, McCoy completely preparing for an absolute meltdown in the blonde, but he just settled and turned onto his side.

Huh.

"What, no fighting it?" Usually he'd at least throw an excuse out there.

"M' doing wha'eva you tell me to" Jim slurred, his eyes unfocused.

Looking at him made McCoy realise just how tired he himself was. He still had yet to find out why Jim had managed to fall out of bed when he was a quiet sleeper, but that was a question for another day.

Satisfied that Jim was falling asleep, McCoy packed his med kit away and headed for the door to his bed. There was still three hours before his shift started and to hell with starting the day early.

"Night kid...again," he muttered before leaving Jim to sleep, keeping his bedroom door open a crack, just in case.

...

Jim groggily came out of what was most likely the worst sleep of his life.

Apart from that one night he had a drinking contest with Scotty and lost.

Nothing compared to waking up from that.

Slowly, Jim cracked open his eyelids and tried to take in his surroundings. The whole room was spinning and quite frankly he felt like shit.

"Bones?" he beckoned hoarsely for his first point of call.

Naturally, there was no reply. Obviously, he was in a room on his _ow_ -oh god. Oh-oh jesus, the ceiling was falling. And the walls. No-the walls weren't falling, they were growing closer to him, narrowing inwards and making the darkness seen even more endless.

Where was he? He didn't actually know. He'd just ran into this room in a panic and now he was trapped here.

Then-

...

 ** _BANG!_**

McCoy shot up in bed, about to grab his medkit and run out the door on impulse before remembering what had happened earlier.

 _Idiot probably fell off the sofa again._ Damn, the kid must be a fidgety sleeper, had he ever fallen out of bed and woken on the floor in the morning?

 _Must be bruises everywhere, the idiot_ , McCoy grumbled to himself as he headed towards the door sluggishly. He was going to be so exhausted at work later.

 _God damn kid, he owes me for this._

Sighing, he rolled his eyes while opening the door, physically preparing himself for hauling the kid back onto the sofa-

Shit!

Jim was flailing on the ground like a fish out of sea, his muscles rock hard as his body seized and slammed against the carpet.

Bones jolted into action, grabbing the med kit and skidding next to the Captain, flinging the kit open with one hand and keeping Jim's head still with the other.

How long has he been seizing?

Bones grimaced as Jim flailed in his arms, trying to manoeuvre him into a position where he could free a hand to grab the hypo.

He swiftly brought the hypo down to the Jim's neck, watching tentatively as the seizure slowed to small twitches.

Almost immediately, Bones whipped out the scanner and scrutinised it as he hovered the device over Jim's torso, and up to his head.

"Reaction to the sedative, what the hell?" he muttered out loud, deciding to run the scan again, just in case.

Same result.

What? He'd used this sedative on Jim for the entirety of the time they knew each other.

He knew his friend had allergies, and this medication had been the go-to tranquiliser ever since he found out about his overactive immune system.

Jim was burning hot, a reflective sheen of sweat radiating from his forehead, not to mention his skin warm to the touch.

Gently, he gripped hold of Kirk's arm and tried to rouse him with a few rubs to his forearm.

"Jim." he muttered, tapping his wrist and waiting for a response. "Jim?"

No response.

"Damn it, I already gave you the damn reversal hypo, what more do you want?"

A subtle twitch, and the arm resting on McCoy's palm tensed up.

"Bones?"

Finally. Jim didn't open his eyes, but it was something.

"Right here, kid, open your eyes now."

Jim's face contorted into a grimace, "M'head 'urts..."

Bones sighed, "Well, that's what happens when you fall off the sofa twice, I don't recommend it, Jim," he joked, still waiting for the blonde to open his eyes. He didn't.

"Look, Jim, just-ugh," he grunted, deciding to pull back an eyelid himself.

Jim's fingers clawed at McCoy's arm before his eyes even had time to focus, pupils darting around the room frantically as if searching for something.

Bones was about to torture him with a pen-light-but his communicator went off. He didn't miss the slight jolt at the sound coming from his friend before he settled down again.

Releasing his hand from Jim's arm, he reached for his communicator, eying Kirk like a hawk.

"McCoy here."

"Spock here, doctor."

Oh, great.

"What is it?" he physically had to stop himself from groaning.

"We believe we know who has injured the Captain."

At that, McCoy let go of his scanner and subconsciously pat Jim's shoulder as a show of comfort.

"Yeah?"

"It was indeed Frank."

McCoy almost threw up on himself.

" _What!?"_

"He is posing as a doctor having gained access via shuttle."

"Shit, Spock, he's still here?"

"Affirmative."

Jim was tiredly glazing over McCoy at this point.

"Who the hell is it? Do we know them?"

"I believe you do. He is the neurologist who has been visiting Jim on a daily basis."

Bones blinked slowly. Shit _. Shit. No no no no-_

"I've been leaving him alone with that bastard since the day he got here! You're telling me I've been giving Frank to Jim?"

"It appears so."

McCoy felt sick. Jim, however, still seemed completely dazed.

A hand gripped his wrist.

Jim looked like a child. "I want Frank..."

Shit. _Shit_. It made sense now—his behaviour, the constant longing to need Frank.  
Had the bastard done something to him?

"Doctor?" McCoy forgot Spock was waiting on the communicator.

"I'll bring him down, we need to confine him somewhere safe. How did you find out?"

There was no way Jim would be able to return to the isolation room-Frank would find him instantly having been called there as his doctor every day.

"I recently checked the security footage of Jim's room and discovered...something that you must see in person."

McCoy swallowed hard, "Something I must see in person? Is it bad?"

 _Of course it's bad you moron,_ but he tried to convince himself otherwise.

"As I have said, it is imperative that you review this footage as soon as possible."

McCoy was actually lost for words—shocked. Why the hell didn't he think to check the footage earlier?

The screaming, the damn screaming that was reported to his office yesterday- he went into the room, and Frank was right there. Right there! And he fell for the damn lie about the reports being a prank!

"Jim, what uh...what do you remember 'bout yesterday?" he coaxed, helping the man sit up.

He was still confused and sleepy from the seizure-probably something Frank caused.

Damn it. _Damn it. Damn it!_

"What I 'member? Hmm...where we going 'ones?"

McCoy frowned at the slurring words, putting it down to the fit and pulling him up by the armpits.

"Somewhere safe-up, up!" he instructed, trying to get the half-limp man to sit on the sofa.

"Whhh-am not safe?"

"No Jim, you're not fucking safe when Frank managed to get on board a Starship and do this shit to you for a week before anyone noticed-stop swaying, damn it! Help me out here!"

Jim visibly melted into a ball of sadness at the harsh tone of the man.

"Sorry, look-god, just sit up for me, okay?"

The blonde's eyes glanced towards the ground, "Frank said me y' were not likin' me."

Red flags popped up all over McCoy's head at Jim's broken speech.

He had to get him to speak more to assess his speech patterns.

"What'd he say?"

Jim froze, but sagged against McCoy again a moment later.

"That you...mmm'dunno..."

Fuck.

"Tell me about anything you remember."

"Ugh...sleepy...g'nigh' 'ones..."

"No-Jim, you need to stay awak-god damn it!" he let the blonde sag back on the couch before marching to the door, determined to get someone to carry Jim's ass out the room, dignity be damned.

Peering out the door, he swore to himself at the empty corridors. He'd have to start barging into rooms using the medical override until he found a security guard.

Just to be safe, he locked the door to medical personnel only. If Jim was to somehow enter another fit and he was three miles down the corridor, then someone had to get in.

He began his journey to find a bulky guard. Twenty doors to go.

...

Jim was dragged out of his dreamy half-conscious state by a loud noise outside of the office.

"Hmm..." he sleepily moaned out loud, shutting his eyes and getting ready to fall back to sleep again.

Clang! _"Fuck!"_

Jim blinked his eyes open, "Huh...'ones?"

But Bones didn't reply, instead it fell silent.

He inwardly shrugged and closed his eyes again, hoping the noise had stopped.

 _Clang!_

How the hell can he fall asleep like this?

He moaned, "Nnn...Booonn-mmm!" his eyes shot open as a hand wrapped around his mouth and hauled him upright, his legs flailing on the floor.

"Shut the fuck up, you're coming with me." Jim felt a click and a hiss, followed quickly by a sharp pain in his thigh, before practically sagging to the ground.

"Gotta be real fast before your doctor friend comes back-fuck, you weigh a ton!"

 _Probably doesn't help that I can't fucking move,_ Jim cursed to himself. Who was this asshole? He wanted Frank.

His legs were unresponsive, he was practically limp in the man's hold.

"Right, now you make a single sound and you'll deal with the consequences, yeah?"

Jim found himself being thrown over the man's shoulder, a twinge of pain as it dug into his ribs.

"Stupid ass doctor, your friend is," he heard the man mumble as they stormed down the corridor, his head hanging over and staring at the rapidly moving floor.

"But that's okay, 'cos I'm here now, Jimmy. Reagan is gonna fix you up, just how you were supposed to be before you ran away."

A warm feeling washed through Jim. Frank had found him? Finally!

"You might be wondering where the hell we're going. Well, we're heading to the shuttle bay, we're gonna leave and fly back to earth. It's an eight hour journey but hey, I've got big plans for you!" Frank rambled on.

Plans? What kind of plans? Jim wished he could move and ask him all about it, he wondered why Frank made him paralysed.

"You wanna know why we're suddenly heading to Earth?"

Well, it hadn't exactly crossed his mind.

"Your god damn escape charade cost us our cover! And I'm not about to let you slip from me when we've grown so close, don't you think? Right, here we are, shut up and don't move."

Frank had halted for a few seconds, and appeared to be talking to someone, Jim couldn't make out who it was.

 ** _WHACK!_**

A red shirted man suddenly fell to the floor; Frank kicked at him, spitting on the fallen figure and walking off.

Jim swallowed hard. That wasn't very nice…

"Reagan, you there? Damn these communicators..."

"Yeah, I'm here, I'm in the shutt-"

An alarm began blurting into the room, it sounded familiar...

"Intruder alert. Find and restrain a male impersonating a doctor, messy brown hair, stubble, approximately sev..." the rest of the announcement was cut off when he was carried into the shuttle.

It was extremely warm in here.

"Right, are you able to do it in here?" Suddenly, Jim was tossed onto the ground, then turned onto his back. The room he was in was small, he watched as the door hatch closed up.

Another man came into his line of vision, yanking his head to the side which elicited an unwelcome yelp.

Fingers started crawling along the side of his head, a few sharp pains from where they had tried to put the implant in his head yesterday.

"No, I need a decent medical facility." the fingers left his head, leaving him aching all over.

"Fuck! Is there somewhere on earth we can go?"

"Well I do have a clinic, but it's not the cleanest of places."

"I don't care! I just want that damn implant working!"

They argued on for a few minutes, and Jim almost dosed off before a hand gripped his jaw and forced it upwards. Frank.

"Hey, Jimmy. You wanted me to make you a pet, right?"

Jim hastily nodded, the paralytic wearing off, although struggled with his jaw still in Frank's grip.

"You know what pets do? They can't stand up, isn't that right?"

Jim thought about this for a second.

"But...'dey can walk..." he struggled to form words, the drug still wreaking havoc in his system.

"Of course they can walk, you moron! I'm talking about standing upright, like we do!"

"Oh...no, mm… 'dey don't do that, they walk on four legs"

"Exactly. So, I'm going to make you a pet that can't stand up, I have a collar and everything, you'll be Jimmy. Just like a pet."

Jim was a little confused, but nodded nonetheless. Frank always knew what he was talking about.

"Frank," he heard Reagan say from beside him, "We discussed this before. I can cut the ligaments in his knees to force him to crawl, but are you sure that's what you want? It's pretty much irreversible unless you have a super-doctor around."

"He's my pet, and I _want_ him to crawl around like one. You better do it, otherwise I'll find someone else and get them to do it on you!"

The silence was telling, obviously Reagan gave into that threat. Frank was a great negotiator.

The tension was broken by a series of beeps coming from the computer. He heard Frank groan, releasing his hand from Jim and striding up to the control panel, slamming his hand on the console.

"What is it?" Reagan approached him.

"That bastard Enterprise is hailing us. They know we're here."

"Damn, they're going to follow us."

"Get little Jimmy to sleep. I can't afford distractions while I figure out how to work this shit on manual..."

Reagan nodded and strolled to the back of the shuttle, kneeling beside Jim and grabbing the box full of hypos that was thrown in the corner.

"Alright little man, when you wake up we'll be on Earth, so no eight hours of waiting for you," Reagan said encouragingly, as if that was a good thing.  
Well, for Jim it probably was.

"Why? M'not doing anything 'ere…" Jim tried to swipe the man's arm away, but he grabbed his wrist and pinned it to the ground, quickly taking the window of opportunity to jab the hypo into Jim's neck.

"'Cos Frank says so, and whatever he says, goes." Reagan replied, packing away the hypo and leaving Jim on the floor on his own to eventually pass out.  
The shuttle suddenly creaked as a phaser hit the side of the hull.

"Buh'…didn' do any'ing…" Jim quickly lost the fight to stay awake and slumped back down, knocked out on the ground.

"I think we can lose them if we fly back and above them, they won't be able to manoeuvre quickly enough," Reagan offered to Frank, approaching by his side again.

Frank subtly nodded, pressing in a load of random buttons his gut told him to press and hoped for the best. He only knew the basics of flying a shuttle from reading up on them from the data banks on board the Enterprise. Probably not the smartest idea if there were criminals on board.

"They won't do anything, we've got their little Captain here, they won't dare to blow the shuttle up," Frank heartened himself, the shuttle shuddering as there was another light hit. "See? They ain't doing shit."

Reagan decided to change the subject, "So what is it that you want to do with this guy?" he asked, pointing to the blonde sprawled out on the floor.

Frank silently celebrated himself when the shuttle managed to get out of the Enterprise visual range, then turned to Reagan, sliding his hand idly along the console, "I want to make him my pet."

Reagan chuckled, "Yeah, but why?"

"I have plans for him. Big plans, that'll make me rich."

"And me?"

Frank scowled, " _And_ you, if you don't give me anymore trouble and do everything I say to him."

Reagan hesitated. He was still a doctor, but hell, a lot money was on the table. This meant more than anything. "I guess fucking up one man isn't going to compare to the amount of people under my care when I'm rich and famous" he grinned, sinking into his imaginary world.

Frank smiled at his revelation, "Yeah, Jimmy ain't nothing. I'm gonna put on a show, you see, and Jimmy is gonna be the main attraction."

"You're gonna have him nude and displayed for entertainment?"

A sly smirk, "Yeah. It's gonna be awesome. I'll be getting paid for standing in a room with my Jimmy for hours. It means other people will get in on it too, but at least I'll be rich."

Reagan clapped his hands together, "Cool, and what did you want me to do again?"

Frank glanced back to Jim, vulnerable and trapped with him on the floor, smiling as tons of ideas came into his mind. Jim was his own little play toy now.

"I want him to be shown as a pet. So, I want him just crawling everywhere on his hands and knees, I want to find a way to stop him from biting down on my dick when it's in his mouth, and I want that implant in his head to _work_ so that he'll permanently be compliant and submissive to me without having to drug him," Frank stood up and strolled over to Jim, imagining that in just a few hours' time, he'll be all his to play with.

"I can attach a teeth guard to make the biting soft, but we can't stop him from doing it altogether. You'll have to train him"

Frank frowned, "And how does that work?"

"Uh… well, they're like mouth guards, pretty much the same actually, except I can slot them onto his teeth and surgically attach it, so it can't be removed. If he bites, it'll be soft."

Frank smiled, "I like the sound of that."

"Good. If you plot a course for my clinic, I'll do it all in there. On one condition."

An irritated growl, "What?"

"He must be asleep throughout."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No, why the hell do you want to keep him awake? Didn't you hear him when I was removing his enamel? I can't sit in a room with him for hours and listen to that screaming again, Frank, I just can't."

"Fucking man up! Don't you like to watch it when he's squirming? I fucking love it!"

Reagan threw a fist on the console, "He's _squirming_ because he's in _pain!_ Either I do it with him sedated or I'm not doing it at all."

Frank looked positively infuriated. Watching Jim squirm around helpless on the chair was one of the best bits.

"Damn it. Fuck you!"

Reagan smiled and shrugged.

….

"Doctor, I really must insist that you look at this footage," Spock urged, becoming increasingly irritated watching McCoy pace around the room stressfully when he must be shown something of upmost importance.

Jim was missing from McCoy's office by the time he came back with a guard, and had been kidnapped onto a shuttle—mostly likely by Frank considering the news of his arrival.

"Dammit, Spock! Jim's missing and all you can think about is showing me a god damn video? I'm busy!"

"Doctor, we are searching for the escaped shuttle through every sector of space, however until we receive an update, our time can be better spent reviewing the situation and how it came about in the first place."

McCoy scoffed, folding his arms and was about to make a retort before even he yielded to the logic of the situation.  
"Fine. Fine! What is it? What the hell is so important?"

Spock swivelled the video screen over to McCoy's position. It was footage of Jim's isolation room.  
"This was taken approximately three days ago," he explained, as McCoy swung his leg over and sat in an awkward position on the chair next to him, "This is Frank with Jim."

The footage showed Frank releasing Jim from his clamps—and then forcing him onto his stomach, shifting his legs under his stomach and stretching body forward until his backside was in the air, and then pushed the clamps over his limbs again.

"What the hell is this…?" McCoy muttered, as Frank stuffed a gag into Jim's mouth and started stroking his genitalia.

"As I said, this is what transpired while you were not in the room with him." The screen then showed Frank shoving something unidentified up Jim's behind—McCoy's eyes were glued to the monitors in the room throwing his heart-rate out of control, but was making no sound.

"Look, his heart is at 214 bpm, why isn't the damn alarm sounding?"

"I believe he purposefully silenced it, not wanting to risk a crew member entering the room."

All of a sudden, the audio was blaring with distorted screaming, and Frank's laughing. McCoy threw his hand on the table and wheeled away, "I've seen enough—I've seen—turn the damn thing off!"

Spock complied, but remained glaring at the blank screen.

"There is more."

"Shit, what?"

"You received reports of screaming coming from the abandoned dental office, correct?"

McCoy blinked, knowing what was coming, "Uh… yeah."

"Observe the following footage."

Then up came another set of footage, of the room that McCoy was _so_ close to entering and busting the shit out of these psychopaths. But no, he trusted his medical personnel over _Jim_ and this is what happened.

It showed Jim being strapped down to a chair, his mouth propped open ridiculously wide by god knows what, and someone he'd never seen before bent over his face and drilling into his teeth.  
He swallowed hard. This could have been avoided if he had just listened to those reports.

"What are they doing?" he asked, trying to establish what it was they were doing to Jim rather than the fact his friend was strapped to a chair and screaming.

"Unknown. They do appear to be drilling his teeth."

"Yeah, no shit, all of them?—Wait, hold on, what's that bag?" he noticed the little bag sitting beside the chair.

"There is a tube attached that appears to be hooked inside his mouth. Perhaps they are collecting something."

"From his teeth?"

"Perhaps."

The footage then showed the tools being removed from Jim's mouth, and then his head being turned to the side. Frank and the other man had a conversation.

"What the hell are they talking about? Can you increase volume?"

"Negative, they are whispering, it has not been picked up by the receiver."

McCoy ran a hand over his face and through his head. Jim was in deep _deep_ shit.

No wonder he was found in the midst of a massive panic attack huddled in the corner and hyperventilating in Chapel's office.

The screen then showed the other man reaching for more tools, and picking up… something. It was too small to see.

"What'd ya suppose that is?"

"There is not enough information, doctor."

"Well I'll be damned, you—shit! What the fuck is he doing!?"

The other man was now drilling into the side of Jim's head, the distorted screams now overloaded the receiver. After a minute, part of Jim's brain was visual on the monitor. McCoy turned to Spock to see if he'd gone a shade of green—literally, but he was as stoic as usual. _Monster._

"They appear to be inserting something inside his brain. Perhaps it is a device that you recognise?"

McCoy had already been staring at it, but couldn't make out what it was. There were tons of implants that could be inserted into a patient's brain, but the graphical quality of the footage wasn't good enough to see what it was.

Five minutes passed before there was a knock at the door.  
Frank was barking orders at the other man, and he had started the process for what McCoy recognised as closing him up.

Another minute, and Jim rammed himself up from the chair while the two men were talking and managed an escape. The footage went blank.

McCoy sat breathlessly, feeling honestly sick for what his friend had gone through. And he could have ended it, right there and then, but no, he just had to be a lazy bastard and just walk away from it.  
Those assholes had their hands on Jim and were going to do god-knows what to him.

They needed to find Jim, and _fast._

* * *

 **Next chapter** : Frank makes Jim his own, and starts up a new business with Jim as the main attraction.

 **A/N: Please try to make it clear to me that you read this so I know it's worth it to continue-even if it means commenting an image of sliced bread.**

Thank you :)


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: This is a lot shorter than my other chapters but I wanted to get this bit out the way.**

 **WARNING (SERIOUSLY): This part is full of suggestions of mutilation, and some sexual scenes.**

Waking up was no longer a pleasure for Jim.

He came to, rather quickly, with the distinct feeling that something was wrong. He focused on the voices of his two captors that were in the room with him. Or rather, in Jim's view, his 'friends'.

"…You can't avoid them forever, Frank. This is _their_ shuttle, they can track it anywhere." That was Reagan. There was an annoyed sigh…

"Then fuck it, we'll have to blow it up. Take little Jimmy inside the clinic and I'll set off the self-destruct."

Vaguely, Jim heard quick heavy footsteps grow closer to him, then two hands gripping onto his elbows. He still had his eyes shut, so Reagan must have thought he was asleep.

He felt his body tug as he was dragged across the metal floor, his ankles quickly starting to burn from the friction.

"There's only one office inside the clinic which is mine. I'll go straight in there," he heard Reagan say, as a very loud noise from behind him echoed—the shuttle door unclamping and opening.

"Get started on the procedure as soon as you can, I don't need any more time wasted."

Jim was dragged for about two minutes before Reagan must have become exhausted, as he was then dropped onto what felt like the grass, it's small green blades tickling the back of his arms, before being hauled in the air and over his shoulder.

For the rest of the time, Jim was able to keep his eyes open without being caught, watching the ground pass by as Reagan walked.

The grass was pretty, he thought. He hadn't been outside on real Earth for such a long time. That comfort was then swiftly taken away from him as there was a loud _bang,_ then the green ground disappeared and turned into white floor.

Clearly the door hadn't even been locked. Were they in the middle of nowhere?

"Okay, James," he heard the man say, feeling him vibrate as he barged himself into another door, "Let's put you on the chair and see what we can do with yah."

The world suddenly spun as he was lifted from Reagan's shoulder and placed in what he guessed was a chair.

Upon opening his eyes, sure enough, it looked pretty similar to the office he was brought into on the Enterprise.

"Oh, you're awake? How long you been with me for?" Reagan asked, sitting himself down on a stool and bringing over a tray of awesome looking equipment.

"That looks cool," Jim marvelled instead, gazing over at the shiny silver instruments. He wanted to touch them badly.

"Yeah, thanks, they don't rust, I've got the top of the line stuff, you see," he boasted, picking up a scalpel and showing it Jim, who just smiled. "Now, Frank will kill me if I don't get started, so let's lie you back," Reagan put the instrument back down and reached over to the side of Jim's chair, pressing a button that gradually reclined it until he was flat on his back.

Jim however, was feeling no anxiety at all, despite what was about to happen. In fact, he was quite excited.

"Am I really gonna be a pet?" he asked with withheld enthusiasm, his baby blues bright with eagerness.

"Uh-huh. Well you'll function like one, anyway," Reagan turned away to meddle with some equipment, before there was a massive **_BANG_** _._ Jim jumped and tried to scramble out of the chair to see what was going on, before Reagan quickly anticipated his move and rammed a hand on his chest.

"Uh-uh, stay there," the man teased, "Frankie obviously managed to blow up the shuttle," he explained, turning back to the equipment again.

Jim, getting impatient, started swivelling his legs around. There was nothing to see but the bland white ceiling, it was so boring!

"Right!" he heard Reagan say, watching as he wheeled backwards into his line of vision, "I don't want you awake for this, Frank is such a damn psychopath…" Jim's eyes followed Reagan as he randomly wheeled around the room, disappearing and reappearing across his line of vision.

Finally, Reagan stopped catapulting around the room and approached from behind him, presenting a strange plastic contraption over his face.  
"Nice and wide…" he coaxed. Jim immediately obeyed, opening his mouth and started kicking his legs again. Reagan slotted something inside his mouth to keep his jaw open.

"Excited to have your entire teeth surgically attached to a mouth guard?" he asked with a bit of jest. Jim nodded eagerly. "Yeah, I bet you are," he muttered. Jim would be excited to have his head sowed on backwards in his drugged-up state.

At that moment, Jim heard the sound of someone barging into the door as it opened, and the only thing he could do was watch Reagan look up at the intrusion.

"Hey Frankie," he heard Reagan say, "Heard you got that shuttle blown to pieces," he laughed.

"Yeah, there's a raging fire out there, looks like it's gonna last a while," then Frank peered above Jim, staring right at him, "Can't wait to watch it with my pet here…" Frank cooed, a smirk forming on his face.

Jim although struggling with the gag holding his mouth open, managed to raise the corners of his lips.

"You excited, Jimmy?" Frank stuck his finger inside his pet's mouth, stroking the plastic tenderly.

"Uh-huh!" Jim started kicking his legs in excitement again.

"Right, well I better him off to sleep so I can get started," Reagan said, appearing with another contraption that fitted nicely over Jim's nose.

Jim felt completely vulnerable, but just couldn't hold back the excitement. Soon enough, the high-pitched sound of gas started, and he began to smell it in the contraption over his nose. It smelt like roses.

He managed a grin, he loved that smell.

Reagan smiled over him, "You smell that, Jim?" he asked, turning his attention to Jim's arms and began hoisting them onto the armrests and strapping them down. A few seconds later, and he felt his legs being moved too.

"I snell ah!" Jim exclaimed, then breathed out a heavy breath as he suddenly had an overwhelming tired feeling. "Nnnn…."

With his limbs now restrained, obviously to keep him safe, Reagan appeared over the top of him, his lips moving as he spoke to Frank but his brain couldn't register what he was saying. It was just sound.

As his excitement started to ebb and the exhaustion took its place, he briefly felt the trousers on his legs being torn and yanked off. Then, some pressure on his knee caps, fingers poking and prodding at them.

He saw Frank walk behind him, and then the sound of the door closing, then Reagan started becoming very blurry. It concerned him. He was beginning to like Reagan, he didn't want him to go away.

To make matters worse, Reagan pulled up a big white mask over his face, so Jim couldn't see him anymore! Black spots began dancing over his vision, more and more appearing every second. He saw Reagan lean in very close to his face, with a silver machine in hand, then the last thing he heard was the sound of a drill starting up before finally he succumbed to his exhaustion and closed his eyes.

….

Frank swore. It had been four hours since he left the room and Reagan _still_ wasn't done with Jim yet.

Four hours.

Four HOURS. Completely unacceptable. He'd been sitting in the waiting room like a moron doing nothing but swiping around on his PADD and smiling to himself about reports from Starfleet throwing alerts around in the news.

 _Captain Kirk kidnapped from flagship._

 _Starfleet works together to find missing Captain._

 _Concern as finding missing Captain becomes unlikely._

He threw his PADD aside for the third time and stood up.  
Damn it, he wanted his pet and he wanted him NOW.

So, he marched to the office door and barged in.

Jim was still laying on his back, completely pale now—there was a certain three-beep alarm sounding every five seconds and Reagan was covered in blood. Jim's knees had _a lot_ of stitches on them, which means that thankfully at least his ligaments had gone, and his mouth was still pried open but had strange looking half-transparent slots over his teeth. There was still a small mask fitted over Jim's nose, no doubt keeping him asleep.

The thing that was most concerning however was the fact that Jim's head was twisted to the side, and there was blood pooling all over Reagan's hands, looking quite frantic.

"Frank!" Reagan shouted, noticing his presence and panicking.

"What the hell is taking so long? What's wrong with his head?" Frank argued, beginning to think he'd given him brain damage of something.

"His head? I haven't got enough blood, he's bleeding out and I can't move to get a new pack!"

Frank swore under his breath and looked around the room for anything that would signify packets of spare blood.

"In the fridge, like right next to you—get type O-Negative blood, five packs, now!"

Frank hated being ordered around, but if the life of his pet was on the line, then he'd have to assist.  
He quickly fished out every single blood packet that had the letter "O" on it and threw them for Reagan to catch.

Reagan quickly started hooking up the new bags of blood, for some reason squeezing the bags.  
What the hell was he doing, giving them comfort?

But after a couple more seconds, the rapid beeping alarm stopped, and Reagan let out a huge sigh of relief.

Frank scowled, but glanced back over to Jim's form.  
Honestly, even in his standards, Jim looked like hell.

"When the hell are you done? By the time you're finished we'll be caught!"

Reagan sighed, "The ligaments in his knees have been cut, there's a soft shield around his teeth, I'm finishing off the implant in his head. I need another three hours."

"Three hours!" Frank spat, "Do you know how long I've—" his sentence was cut off by an extremely obnoxiously loud drill and a taunting smile from Reagan. He scowled, flipping him off and leaving the room.

…

Pain.

Oh god.

Excruciating pain.

The second he began to return to consciousness—all he could feel was _pain._

He wanted to cry. And that he did. He sobbed, having no idea where he was or why he woke up with pain, but all he knew was that everything in his body hurt and it was too much.

"James?"

So, there was someone in the room with him. He felt a sharp pain in his arm, then a burning feeling that ran through his wrist, up his arm and around his body.

"I've given you something to help. The pain will go down overtime, I promise."

At the very kind sounding voice, Jim opened his eyes—immediately squeezing them shut again at the blinding overhead lights burning into his skull. There was a quiet sigh, then the warm feeling against his face stopped.

He tried again, opening his eyes. The large overhead light was turned off, and he realised he was still laying on the chair that he fell asleep on. Huh.

"I'm gonna run a few tests before I get Frankie in here, 'cos he's a little pissed off and he'll drag you out the second he gets called in here."

Jim blinked slowly. His mouth felt funny, like a strange tasting glass was pressing against his tongue.

"Wha-ha—" he stopped at how weird it felt to talk. He ran his tongue along his teeth—it felt so weird.

"You'll get used to it, just give it time," Reagan encouraged, taking a penlight out his pocket, "Follow this light,"

Jim obeyed, although his head felt like it was being used as a drum—except with sledgehammers instead of drumsticks.

"Good, now wiggle your toes…Good, squeeze my hand?...Good. Frankie better be happy with this."

Jim flinched when Reagan yanked the overhead light to the side, and then turned to the door, "Frankie, he's ready for you!"

Slowly, the excitement began to return to Jim. He really wanted to see Frankie, it had been so long.  
Just then, he heard the tell-tale sound of the door opening, then someone shouting "Finally!"

Frank appeared over his vision this time, beaming and looking happier than he had ever seen him, "He's beautiful, Reagan. I want to test him out, untie him from the chair."

Jim completely forgot his limbs were strapped down. Even so, it was a relief when they were freed.

"C'mon Jimmy, start walking for your Frankie," at that moment, Jim was gripped with mighty strong sweaty hands and thrown off the table. His body automatically attempting to stand before falling, Jim collapsed onto his stomach with a loud cry, his hearing suddenly overwhelmed with a high-pitched whine as the pain flooded his system.

Jim's nervous system couldn't decide whether to screech or gasp at the agony radiating through his knees.

Frank's laughing was the first thing he heard after recovering, then his jaw was grabbed and yanked upwards, "Come on Jimmy, on your hands and knees," Frank snarled, "Walk to me."

Jim lifted his head up, noticing Frank was at least seven steps away.

Groaning, he struggled to his knees, his screaming practically bouncing off the walls as his body forced him onto all fours.

There was no way in hell he could stand—it felt impossible.

So, with great strain, he reached both hands out in front of him, then dragged his knees across the floor, trying in great distress to reach Frank.

Frank needed him. Jim _needed_ to get him. He would do anything—the pain was nothing. So he struggled, until eventually he was crawling across the floor.

He finally reached Frank, and the room erupted with Frank's laughter, and Jim smiled as he realised he made Frank happy.

"Good boy, Jimmy…Good boy. I have something for you," Frank smirked, digging into his pockets and then bringing out a yellow collar that said 'Jimmy' on it. "Here you go, nice and tight you don't lose it…" the collar was tightened around his neck.

"Reagan made me a special gift while you were out, didn't you Reagan?"

At that, Reagan remained silent.

"Ah, fuck him. Anyway, you wanna know what it is?"

Jim nodded eagerly, he loved it when Frank was happy. Frank reached into pocket, checking his hands and then taking out a metal square with a big red button on it.

"Well, I can't really confuse it with other remotes, can I?" Frank pressed the button.

Jim let out an unearthly screech, his eyes rolling back into his head and his body going limp, collapsing to the floor, his limbs seizing and kicking uncontrollably.

"Frank! Stop! That's only for damn emergencies!"

"Haha! Fuck off Reagan, this boy is mine now!"

"Frank! You could damage his brain, turn it off!"

"Damn it, you ruin all the fun."

As the fire in his brain slowly sizzled out, his limbs stopped seizing and sank to the floor, drool pooling out of his mouth.

"Damn it, Frankie, this is only for when he misbehaves. If you do it too much you'll give him brain damage."

Frank, however, was beside himself, "I don't—I don't—" he couldn't stop for a breath, "Oh god, Reagan look at him!"

Jim cracked his eyes open, aware of the saliva running out of the corner of his lips. He hurt so much. He wanted Frankie.

"Fuh-fuh-fuhrann—rann…"

Frank burst into laughter again, "Oh god Reagan, this is perfect!" he slid onto his knees in front of him, taking Jim's face in his hands and force him to look at him, "What is it, baby? What do you want, huh?"

"Fuh…frank…ih-huuurts…"

From behind Frank's smirking, he could see Reagan, looking absolutely traumatised. He didn't understand why, he was only Frank's pet.

"Don't worry Jimmy, I know how to make you feel better," Frank stroked Jim's cheeks, then landed a light kiss on his forehead, "Get him back on the chair, and lower the top bit! I want him to suck me off."

Reagan jolted out of his idleness, then stood beside Jim, bending down and hauling his limp body up by the armpits and dragging him over to the chair.

As he was dumped on the chair, he vaguely felt the top half of himself being lowered down.  
Frank sat down on the stool behind him with a _clonk,_ and the only thing Jim could see was Frank's crotch.

"Let's see just how well these mouth guards of yours work," Frank snarled, unzipping his trousers and reaching into his pants. Jim really wanted to help Frank, he really did, but his vision was fading in and out so much that he wasn't sure he'd be able to give his best.

He was forced out of his thoughts however, as Frank's dick was suddenly shoved into his mouth, startling him slightly as his hands clawed on the armrests.

"Damn, did you give him that implant or what? He's still a little shaky."

Jim, not wanting to receive another shock, started sucking instantly. He wasn't sure how long he'd be able to though, as he really did feel like he was going to pass out.

"You gotta give it a while for the chemicals in the implant to affect his brain, he'll wake up tomorrow as your loving pet."

"C'mon Jimmy, you can suck harder than this," Frank hissed, Jim saw him bring out the remote from his pocket and he nearly gagged. He whined in protest, quickly sucking as hard as his body would possibly allow him, regardless of feeling like he was beginning to float.

"Oh—oh god! Yeah! That's right Jimmy! Oh god! Reagan this—oh god—this is your best—best—invention yet!—oh god—oh god that's so good—" Frank's cock was now throbbing in his throat, and Jim was finding it hard to breathe.

In the corner of his eye, Jim could see Reagan glancing at him worriedly. So, in a desperate effort, he continued sucking while staring at Reagan with as much begging in his eyes as he could muster.

Jim swore he could see Reagan mouthing " _I'm sorry"_ to him, but for what? It wasn't his fault he was so tired.

"More! Jimmy! More! _MORE!"_ Just then, Frank grabbed either side of Jim's face and wrenched him closer to his crotch, " ** _MORE!"_**

Jim whimpered, kicking his legs as he felt the oxygen starvation take place.

"Oh yeah! You're feeling it too, baby?"

Seconds later, he felt Frank's release spray the back of his throat, and Frank started screaming the room down. Jim choked, at the same time trying to continue sucking, not able to move his head with Frank's muscles tensed and having it in a death grip.

Finally, his head was released, and Frank sighed, his cock sliding out of his mouth, leaving it hanging out of his pants as he tried to regain himself. Reagan instantly shot up from the seat, darting over to Jim and grabbing something that he couldn't see.

Jim choked and coughed, gasping for breath, his eyes watering, while his lungs didn't feel like they were getting enough air.

The display of Frank's crotch was replaced by Reagan's legs, the top of the bed raising to match the rest of his body. Reagan's face was hovering of Jim's, and he grabbed his head, pressing a mask over his face.

"What the hell are you doing?" Frank demanded, standing up and tucking his cock away.

"He can't breathe, Frankie, he's not ready yet," Reagan explained, Jim sighing as the oxygen filled up his lungs.

"I need him ready tomorrow, I've got a show with him!"

"I'm sure he'll be ready, but right now he's just come out of a major surgery and he can't be sucking your fucking dick!"

"I _made_ him have this surgery so that he _could_ suck my dick, and I'll make him…."

The rest of the argument was lost as Jim closed his eyes and drifted off into sleep.

...

A/N: Hahahaha...yeah, you hate me. Reagan is starting to feel a little guilty, don't you think? Will he help Kirk get out of this rut or is he just gonna let him suffer?

 **Please guide your cursor to the like, kudos or comment button. It is only logical, and serves as a large factor in the continuing of this fiction.**


	13. Chapter 13

_**A.N: Merry Christmas Eve! :)**_

* * *

 _Last time:  
Frank and Reagan finally got Jim onto Earth to themselves. Jim's had surgery to make him Frank's 'pet'. Frank has a show to put on the next day with Jim._

 _Two Days Later_

Three days. Three god damn days, and nothing.

Jim had been missing for three days, and Starfleet had practically done nothing; beside from write articles boasting about his abduction. The Enterprise had been taken off their current mission with permission to go out and look for their Captain, but that was all.

McCoy sat alone in his office, downing yet another glass of Saurian brandy, and to hell with the dangers of it.

There was an empty glass on the other side of the table, where Kirk would have sat, were he here with him. He used to warn Kirk of the impact it might have later on in his life, but it made him feel a little closer to him, wherever he was.

"Miss you, kid…" he murmured to himself, staring at his reflection in the glass.

The door chimed, letting him know someone wanted to interrupt his sulking.

"Come in," he mumbled just loud enough for the person to hear, swiping the brandy closer to him.

In walked in Chapel, very delicately, gently, and waited for the door to shut.

At her silence, McCoy glanced up to look at her. Her eyes had a glimmer of hope in them, something that had been missing this past week. Feelings of doubt pushed at the surging feeling of optimism that rivalled in his stomach.

"News?" he queried, gesturing towards the empty glass on the table.

Chapel offered a sincere smile but shook her head at the offer, "There's been a report of a shuttle fire on Earth, but it's in the middle of nowhere so it could be nothing, just an unfortunate stray fleet ship," she explained, stepping back as McCoy immediately stood up from his chair, wobbling a little bit.

"Shuttle fire? A crash?" his stomach sank—the chances of Kirk in his condition surviving a shuttle crash were extremely low, especially without proper medical facilities around.

"We don't know yet," Christine whispered gently, "But Spock is determined, and we're headed towards it now. We're pretty close to Earth, we're next to the solar system, so we're gonna be about nine hours, he said."

McCoy nodded solemnly. Nine hours was way too late.

Chapel stepped towards him and lay a hand on his shoulder, "We'll find him, we always do."

 _Beep! Beep! Beep!_

Communicator. Damn it.

McCoy sighed, grabbed his communicator from his pocket and sunk down onto the chair, "McCoy here."

Spock's voice came through, _"Spock here. Doctor, I thought you might like to be informed of our progress in locating the Captain."_

McCoy heaved a sigh, "Spock, I appreciate it, but nurse Chapel has already informed me. Nine hours is too long if Jim is severely injured from the crash." He would have last about an hour at the most. It had already been three days.

 _"Negative, doctor. We have received more intel. Starfleet has informed us that the shuttle was on self-destruct, and had not in fact crashed."_

McCoy eyes lit up, glancing up at Chapel hopefully, both doctors sharing stunned expressions.

"But if there wasn't a crash, then…" My god. He could still be alive.

 _"There is no reason why he would have self-destructed on the ground instead of in space. Logically, Frank would have attempted to rid of the evidence of his landing by destroying the shuttle, which concludes that Jim must still be on the planet surface somewhere. We only require finding him."_

McCoy blew out a breath, and was suddenly very glad that he was sitting down.  
"Thanks Spock. Really…he could still be alive then, huh," he shut his eyes and chuckled quietly to himself.

 _"There is a possibility. I presume you would prefer me not to relay you the precise odds."_

"Yeah. Keep me updated, alright?"

" _Affirmative. Spock out."_

McCoy slowly shut the communicator and pushed it into his pocket, staring at the table in front of him in disbelief and optimism.

"Christine, I thought he was dead, I really thought…" he hated himself as he began to choke up, dipping his head onto the table, trying to hide his face.

"Oh, lord," Chapel quickly strode over grabbing a chair and sitting beside him, "We all did…" she murmured, taking him into her embrace, "We all did."

McCoy didn't try to stop himself anymore as he wept into Chapel's white medical uniform. He had managed to convince himself for days that Jim Kirk was dead, having no idea where he was and the idea that he would ever see him again.

But today, there was a chance that he was still alive.

* * *

 _Frank's lair._

"I said $20, no less!" Frank boomed, arguing with another customer who didn't want to pay full price to play with James Kirk.

"Those are extortionate prices! I pay $10 or I'm out of here!"

Frank pushed the man aside, "Get the fuck out of here then! If you're not paying then you ain't gonna see him!"

The man huffed, irritated, then turned on his heel to leave. Frank scoffed in disbelief—people could be such assholes.

Speaking of ass…

"Hey Jimmy, how you doin'?" Frank asked, not at all caring for the answer but wanting to strike up a conversation with his pet.

Jim was kneeling in the middle of the room on a huge slab, tied down to it with a lead attached to his collar. Every time the lead was pulled in an attempt to escape, he would be electrocuted via the chip in his brain.

The problem was though, most of the time the tugs were accidental, he hadn't _tried_ to even escape once. He was being electrocuted every single session for no reason.

"I 'anna ake a dake" Jim struggled to speak through the gag in his mouth, curtsy of Frank.

"You wanna take a _break?"_ Frank snarled, walking up to the vulnerable man and staring at the figure in front of him. He wrenched the gag out of his mouth, so he could have a proper conversation with him.

He was completely naked, his ass cheeks beet red. His throat was red from screaming, his face covered with blotches from crying. But he got Frank loads of money, so it was fine.

"Do you have any idea how much money you're getting me?" he sneered, rubbing a hand over Jim's reddened cheeks.

"Please, sir, I need a break!" Jim begged, his eyes welling up with tears again. He had been on the slab for two days so far, people paying Frank to pleasure themselves using Jim as their toy, invading and assaulting his body. "Please!"

"He needs to eat something, Frank," Reagan made Frank jump, suddenly coming out of seemingly nowhere.

"Damn it! Don't fucking do that!" Frank swore, elbowing Reagan in the shoulder and turning back to Jim. He did look awfully thin and pale. Not to mention trembling.

"But your mouth is so clean and pretty…" Frank cooed, rubbing a thumb across Jim's lips softly, "I wouldn't want to make it filthy for my clients…"

Jim let out a low whine at the back of his throat, then immediately regretted in when Frank scoffed and tugged at his lead. Electricity rocked through his brain, sending him flat onto his stomach on the slab while his limbs seized, gargling when froth bubbled out of his mouth.

"Frankie, you're going to end up killing him before the week is even over," Reagan warned, watching Jim's convulsion in front of him. "You…you need to look after him, like you would do any other pet."

Frank rolled his eyes, turning to Reagan and gripping his shoulder, "Then get a damn tube, we'll feed him straight into his stomach." That was the only way to stop his mouth from getting dirty.

Reagan hesitated, but upon Frank's intimidating stare, relented and darted off.  
Jim's seizure promptly ended, his eyes rolling around his head. "I…I wanna break…please…"

Frank stormed beside him, grabbing his neck into a death-grip, "Listen here you piece of shit,"

Jim screeched and started kicking his legs.

"You're staying leashed to this damn slab for the rest of your life. You'll sleep here, you'll piss here, you'll eat here, you'll fuck here, and you'll die here. You get that?"

Jim feebly nodded within his grasp, looking past Frank's shoulder when he saw Reagan returning. Frank caught his gaze and dropped him back onto the slab, glancing behind to find Reagan also.

Jim moaned into the stone, his entire body were scraped and bleeding from how long he had been on that rock for.

Suddenly, he jumped, the pressure of someone's hands massaging his ass, and it didn't take long for him to realise it was Frank.

"Your body is so beautiful, Jimmy, you know that?"

Jim whined into the rock, tears dripping from his eyelashes and puddling out onto the stone.

"I do like it so when your ass is painted a tender cherry red, don't you think?"

Jim once again moaned into the rock.

"Give me that tube," Frank hissed from behind him. Jim was unable to stop himself from shivering.

Then, a hand grabbed his chin and forced him to look up at Frank's face.

"Feeding time, Jimmy," Frank snarled, promptly shoving a tube into Jim's mouth and down his throat. At that, Jim coughed and gagged, kicking his legs and arms around ferociously as the plastic was pushed further back down his neck and entered his stomach.

He moaned and scratched at the rock in desperation, but Frank only glanced down at him in mocking sympathy.

"Don't know what this is, looks like vomit to me. Anyway, have fun," Frank poured the contents into the tube, sending Jim reeling as it fed down his throat.

He tried his best to scream, feeling like he was choking, really really _really_ just wanting to die.

Jim tried to mutter the words _"please stop"_ but the tube was lodged too far down his throat to muster the words.

His limbs scratched and burned as his stripped body flailed on the rocks, before finally Frank must have been satisfied as the tube was forcefully ripped out of this throat—immediately Jim wrenched himself over the side on the slab and started vomiting.

"Oh no you don't," Frank hissed, kneeling down and clamping Jim's mouth shut. "Swallow the fucking food, you disobedient son of a bitch!"

Jim's eyes begged him to stop, the bile tickling his throat and watering out of the corner of his lips, until eventually his body started heaving.

Desperately, Jim tried to breathe out of his nose, feeling like he was suffocating on his own vomit while Frank just glared angrily at him.

"Reagan, this fucking chip was supposed to make him obey me, why is he being a little bitch!" Frank yelled at the surgeon, his hand still clamped tightly around Jim's jaw.

"Well, I can't stop the body's autonomic reflexes," Reagan explained, "You've shoved a tube down his throat and then force-fed him, his body is reacting by trying to expel it."

Frank's hand was shaking at this point, "Then get it to stop expelling it!"

Jim whined, Frank's mighty grip causing pain throughout his tender jaw.

Frustrated, Frank let go, allowing Jim to finally expel the contents of his stomach and vomiting all over the floor.

"You could just let him eat like a normal human being, Frank," Reagan hissed, his stomach churning at the treatment Jim was getting; the young man now trembling and pale, his head hanging off the side of the slate that he was tied to.

"He is not a human being. He is my pet! My dog! And I want his mouth to be pretty and clean!"

"Then wash it afterwards! If you carry on like this, he'll be dead from starvation by next week!"

Frank rammed Reagan against the wall, "I don't give a flying fuck!"

He then shook his head, staring up at the clients still waiting to get in. Reagan slid down from the wall to the floor, exhausted and dazed.

"Right, hope you had a nice break, Jimmy," he muttered, grabbing the abandoned gag and shoving it back inside Jim's mouth.

Jim's moaned and shut his eyes, letting his head fall back onto the slate. He forced himself to breathe through his nose, as through his mouth he would just inhale dirt with his mouth propped open.

"Okay, in here, just over here," Frank was guiding another customer over, beaming as if Jim was his prize possession. "Don't worry about being gentle, he can handle it." Frank glared angrily down at Jim, then walked away, leaving the 'client' to strip and get on the slab, and Reagan to gaze on in horror.

* * *

 _Enterprise._

Uhura was glancing towards Spock every ten seconds now. He was constantly looking at his PADD and looked extremely solemn, even for him.

What the hell was on the PADD that would upset even a Vulcan?

"Spock?" she asked, finally deciding to stand up and confront him, "What're you looking at?"

Spock looked up from his temporary command chair and watched Uhura approach him.

"I…Lieutenant, please return to your station," he said with as much authority as he could muster.

Uhura was not swayed, "Captain, you've been looking like someone killed your puppy for the past twenty minutes," she stepped closer until they were practically toe-to-toe, "If it's about Jim, I want to know."

Spock let out a Vulcan equivalent of a sigh and pursed his lips. "I have…located the Captain."

At that, everyone in the room simultaneously spun around in their chairs.

"What?" Uhura gasped, snatching up the PADD from Spock's hands—her _captain's_ hands.

On screen, there was a video of a man, a blonde man, kneeling on a rock on all fours, a collar around his neck, his skin looking extremely beaten and bloody. The man was completely naked with a gag in his mouth, and looked tremendously fearful, his eyes bloodshot and stained from tears.

"Who's this?" Uhura exhaled, gingerly returning the stolen PADD to a staring Vulcan.

"Lieutenant, please refrain from taking my property unless I ask of you to take it from me," Spock said instead, his fingers noticeably gripping the armrests.

Uhura shook her head, still glancing at the man on the screen that now lay in Spock's hands. The video then moved to another man standing behind that one, taking his arse and wrenching his cheeks apart. The man screamed, attempting to squirm but received a smack on the ass in return.

"Hold on…" Uhura mumbled, watching in horror as someone forced a dildo inside of the man, "Where did you find this?"

As Spock just glanced at her knowingly, Uhura began to piece it all together.

"Oh god," she cried, swiping a hand over her mouth, "Oh god! Spock…is that…is that Jim?" she croaked near a whisper, stepping back in alarm.

Spock dropped his gaze and turned the PADD off, staring blankly into the distance.

"We will reach orbit in an hour," he announced quietly, refusing to meet Uhura's gaze.

"Oh my god…" the lieutenant cried again, stumbling backwards, "What the hell are they doing to him?"

"Remain calm, Lieutenant," Spock ordered, a little more in control this time, "Please inform the doctor that he has…information sent to his PADD.

Uhura warily nodded, faltering back to her station and informing doctor McCoy about what was likely to be the video that Spock saw.

She didn't want to even think about how he would react.

* * *

 _Frank's lair._

"That's it! We're all done for today!" Frank yelled at the onslaught of new clients. The money was excellent, but good fucking god, he was so tired, and he couldn't leave Jimmy unattended.

At the news, Jim slumped back down onto the slab in defeat, every muscle and nerve in his body aching and on fire.

There was a crowd of murmurs and complaining shouts, but eventually the room grew quiet again.  
The only thing Jim could hear was the sound of Frank's footsteps gaining towards him.

"Well, they're done with you, but I'm not."

Jim's stomach sank—he really thought he would have a break.

"What—you thought you'd be able to take a nap?" Frank laughed, "I've been here for two days straight and hell, my bank account is happy, but before we go home, I want you to please me one more time."

Jim mumbled something incoherent into the rock.

"What's that, huh?" Jim's head was suddenly yanked up, Frank's cock forcing itself into Jim's gag before his eyes could even begin to focus, "You were trying to say something, huh, Jimmy?" Frank teased, rocking his cock back and forth Jim's throat.

Jim attempted to beg him to stop, but he couldn't even get a sound out as Frank was completely constricting his throat.

"Aw, yeah, come on Jimmy," Frank said shuffling himself onto the slab with him and forcing the blonde onto his back. His cock slid out of the gag temporarily, and Jim only got a second to gasp for air before Frank was on top of him and shoving it back in again.

"Good boy…good boy…" Frank murmured, sitting on Jim's chest and threading his cock back and forth, "Mmm…boy you're good at this, you know that?"

Jim didn't try to reply, tears stinging his eyes, watching tearfully as Frank began cradling his face. He sucked harder, in the fear of getting punished, his vision fading once again from lack of oxygen, an event that had happened just minutes after waking up from the surgery two days ago.

Frank forced it in further, squeezing his eyes shut and groaning as the release quickly took him and spurted to the back of Jim's throat. Jim's body was begging Frank to tire and get off of his chest, literally.

"Ahh…well that was a quick one, I was hoping it'd be longer than that," Frank sighed, "Maybe it was the exhaustion, oh well." He promptly slid his cock out of Jim's gag, eliciting a shuddering gasp of air from the blonde, coughing and spluttering over himself.  
Frank smirked, hopping off the table and dressing himself again.

"We'll do that every night, huh? You can help me go to sleep," Frank mused, stepping back over to a panting Jim, "Good boy," he pats his pet on the head, running his fingers through the blonde's hair before walking away. "I'm just gonna get your drugs and I'll be back."

Jim watched Frank leave, his presence leaving a vile taste on his tongue. Not to mention he'd left the gag in his mouth.

Then, to his dismay, out the corner of his eye, he saw another man enter the room. Frank obviously never saw him coming, so he was about to get a free session out of Jim.

Groaning, Jim struggled onto his stomach, willing his legs to manoeuvre onto his hands and knees, readying himself for the next session. His ass was burning from his last encounter, he really didn't want to do this again.

"Jim!" the man suddenly shouted, and came running towards him.

 _Oh god_ , Jim thought to himself, _he's really eager. This is gonna hurt so bad…_

"Oh Christ," the blurry man stopped suddenly in front of him, whipping out something from his pocket which began making beeping noises. "Okay Jim, it's okay, you're gonna be alright, you hear me?"

Whining into the gag, Jim strained himself to lean forward until his chin was against the slab and his ass was in the air. This man wanted to get him good, but at least he cared. Maybe he wouldn't make it hurt so much.

Oh, who was he kidding. They all made it hurt. Everyone did. He was just a sex slave like this.

"Jim, what are you…? Oh. Jim, you don't have to…oh lord…"

Jim lifted his head slightly, confused with what the man was trying to do. This client was so confusing, he wished Frankie would just grab him and get him to leave.

Then, the man appeared in front of him, kneeling down to his level. Oh, he wanted oral. Right.

"Jim, I don't want…I don't want you to…damn it."

Jim made a croaky questioning noise at the back of his throat.

"Jim, I don't want this. Lie on your stomach."

Blinking slowly, Jim lowered his body onto his stomach, keeping his head propped up with his chin.

"There you go…there you go…don't you recognise me?"

Jim nearly scoffed to himself, but that would get him electrocuted. He couldn't even see anyone any more, his eyes had been blurry all day. Whether that was from tears or brain damage after being electrocuted every ten minutes was a mystery to him.

"Jim? Do you recognise me?" the blue man repeated himself.

Jim shook his head, trying to speak through the gag, "I cah…I cah 'ee" he tried, his attempts at saying _I can't see_ failing magnificently.

"What? Oh, fuck, damn it," the man reached out towards him, resting a hand on his tear-stained cheek and wrenching the gag out. "There you go. Talk to me darlin'. Do you know who I am?"

Jim let out a sob. He was so confused.

"Okay…okay," a shuddering sigh, "You call me Bones, okay? I'm gonna…I'm gonna get us some help."

Jim blinked some tears out of his eyes. Bones sounded familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Hey!"

Jim's entire body jolted at the loud shouting of Frank.

That tone meant he was in trouble.

"It's gone closing time! Get the fuck out of here!"

The man in blue muttered something under his breath, before turning towards Frank.

"You son of a bitch! You did this!" he roared, marching towards Frank, pointing something at him.

"Fuck! Starfleet! Reagan, it's Starfleet!" Jim heard Frank yell, before there was a loud shrill screech in the air, and the sound of someone hitting the floor.

Then…there was silence.

…

And footsteps…

…

 _Clink._

The entire room lightened up, no longer dimly lit near pitch-blackness, but the whole room was now visible. It looked like a giant warehouse.

As Jim turned his gaze towards the man running towards him, his vision cleared enough to recognise the face that looked deeply concerned and horrified at the same time.

"Bones…" Jim murmured, desperately clawing and scratching at the rock to get towards him.

McCoy skidded to his knees in front of him, fingers locking around the collar on Jim's neck.

"I've got you…I've got you…" his doctor muttered, the collar and leash falling against the rock with a quiet _clank._

Jim sat up instantly, the life in him slowly returning as he wanted to latch onto Bones in immense terror; as if the man could take it all away.

"Bones" Jim repeated, his arms flailing trying to reach him.

Bones dropped a box beside him—it took Jim's brain ten seconds to realise it was a medkit, and watched him quickly crack the box open.

"Alright, alright, just give me a minute," Bones mumbled, grabbing a blue blanket that matched the colour of his shirt and wrapped it around Jim's waist.

"C'mon, lean towards me," he encouraged, pressing a hand to Jim's bare back, trying to give Jim some privacy with the blanket.

"Bones"

McCoy tugged the blanket to be sure it was secure and brought out his communicator.

"I know, I'm gonna get us some help."

Jim crawled towards McCoy until he was practically sitting on his lap. There was a disgruntled sigh before the communicator was flipped open, the man's hand returning to Jim's back and firmly holding him close.

"McCoy to Enterprise. I've got Jim, beam us up right now. And send down two security guards. Frank is stunned and unconscious," he announced, becoming steadily concerned with how thin Jim was, having wrapped his arms around him. "Oh, and there's some guy that he calls Reagan around here too. Find him, I'm betting he's got a part in this."

As soon as the sentence ended, the tell-tale signs of a transporter beam began when McCoy felt the tingling feeling at the back of his neck.

Instinctively, he pulled Jim towards him closer, swiping up the medkit in the other hand.

…

"Bones" Jim was still calling McCoy's nickname the second they materialised.

Both men were on their knees on the floor, Jim was tucked under the CMO, trembling like no tomorrow, tearful and terrified.

"Get medical down here, now!" McCoy shouted up to Scotty, who was manning the transporter.

Scotty broke out of his reverie and jolted his hand on the console, "Aye sir," he replied quickly, "Bring a medical team down to ta' transport room, stat!" he called into the comm shakily, his eyes still locked onto Jim.

"Bones" Jim repeated, his clutch on McCoy's shirt so intense that the doctor was beginning to think he was going to rip it off.

"I know darlin', you're safe now, I promise," he whispered, squeezing him tighter and trying to take in an inventory of the injuries on the man. The only thing that wasn't being covered by the blanket was his chest and head. There was blood stains and untreated wounds everywhere.  
There was gonna be a hell of a work-up in medical.

"Bones," Jim whimpered this time, "…'urts'…"

"Shh," McCoy hushed him and swallowed hard, unable to do anything without being in medical, "I know…we'll get ya sorted out soon, kid, just a wait a little longer."

Scotty was still staring down at them from the console in shock. Bones didn't blame him. The kid looked like hell.

McCoy eyed the medkit laying out in front of him. He really wanted to jab him with a sedative, but wasn't sure what his injuries were. If they were extensive, anaesthetic could be dangerous. Perhaps a painkiller?

"Jim?" he urged, eying the hypospray that was within an arm's reach away.

"Uh-huh?"

"I want to give you a painkiller, but that means you'll have to let go of my shirt."

"No." Jim snivelled.

McCoy sighed, "Just for a second while I hypo you, then you can grip my blues until your nails fall off, but I'd prefer you didn't take it that far." He joked, giving the kid in his arms another reassuring squeeze.

"M'don't wan' hypo…" Jim mumbled, nuzzling his face further into Bones' shirt.

McCoy sighed, "Yeah, don't I know it," he muttered, "Where does it hurt?" he might as well start taking in where his injuries were if he couldn't see them under the blanket.

"Mmm…" Jim groaned, "e'rywhere…"

Another sigh, "Alright kid, just hang tight."

Bones tentatively caught Jim's wrist in his hand, gently pressing his fingers against his skin and trying to find a pulse.

Much too fast and thready for his liking.

As he put Jim's arm down, the transporter room doors suddenly opened, hordes of men and women in blues and whites coming sauntering in, a hoverbed in tow.

"Took you look enough," Bones grouched, eying them as they all came beside him. "Get him on the bed and take him straight to medical," he ordered, "Put him in the private exam area and get Chapel to assist me."

There was a flurry of _yes sir_ 's as medical staff quickly surrounded them and pulled Jim up, McCoy holding the blanket tightly around his body.

As soon as they got Jim to his feet, his eyes shot open in distress and let out an unholy scream, collapsing onto his stomach again.

"What is it, what's wrong?" McCoy fussed, rolling Jim onto his side, trying his best to ignore the pained crying, "Is it your legs? Do they hurt?"

Jim ground out a low moan, his hands searching for Bones' shirt, latching onto it again.

He sighed, "Jim, I need you to let go of my shirt,"

The blonde shook his head furiously, "I can't!" he cried, his fingers clenched so hard around the material that his hands were shaking.

Deciding to take the risk, McCoy glanced over to the medical staff, "Get me a fast-acting sedative," he muttered, swallowing a lump in his throat at Jim's condition, "Now!"

"No!" Jim shouted, beginning to kick his legs around, "I don't want a hypo!"

McCoy froze, his watchful eyes catching something weird covering Jim's teeth as he spoke. He shook it off, deciding to deal with whatever that was later.

"NO!" Jim roared, thrashing around on the floor, his hands still clenched to McCoy's shirt.

McCoy lay out his palm to the doctors, who quickly placed a hypo into his hand.

"No!" Jim cried out his hands now latching onto the arm of McCoy which held the hypo, "I don't want a hypo!" McCoy struggled to press the hypo into his neck, with Jim's rigid muscles holding him back.

"Nurse!" he yelled to the nurse next to him, who quickly yanked the hypo out of McCoy's hand and pressed it into Jim's neck.

Jim's body sagged at the same time as the hissing starting.

"No…"

"There ya go…just relax now, kid." Bones watched miserably as Jim's shaky fingers uncurled from his arms.

"I dun' wan' it…"

"Well, can't do anything about that now, can I?" Bones teased, catching him as he suddenly fell limp forward, before he hit the ground face-first.  
"On the bed, straight to medical" he ordered them, standing up and brushing himself off.

He waited for them to prep him on the bed, before placing an oxygen mask over his face.

 _Damn it, Jim._

* * *

People stopped and stared as the medical team rocketed along the corridors, McCoy nearly breaking into a dead sprint in desperation, wanting to get Jim into medical faster than was humanly possible.

As soon as the medbay's doors were hissing open, McCoy barged through and began reading off the very limited amount of information he knew.

"GCS 11, BP is at 90/60 and dropping, he's very anaemic, lost _a lot_ of blood," he read out, leading them to a private exam room, which pretty much was only ever used for Jim.  
Captain privileges.

"He's been sedated, but hasn't come out of it yet." Kirk was quickly moved onto a biobed, a dozen alarms sounding as soon as it picked up on his life signs, and was instantly jabbed in the neck with a series of hypos by none other than Bones.

Chapel glanced at McCoy and gestured to the blanket covering Jim's body.

These other medical staff were no-where near experienced as the CMO and Nurse Chapel, with McCoy having no trust in how they would react if everyone saw their Captain completely stripped. And Chapel knew it.

"Right, everyone besides Chapel and myself, get out," McCoy demanded, having no time for messing around with the excited nurses. They promptly left, complaining and muttering under their breath, leaving the CMO and his nurse alone.

Bones sighed, stepping over to the blanket and tugging it off, "Let's see what that bastard has done to you, huh?" he murmured, throwing it aside and staring at Kirk's body.

There were cuts and scrapes every inch of his body, some of them pretty deep. He scrutinised the rest of the prone figure lying on the biobed.

McCoy glared at his legs and raised an eyebrow in shock, "Shit, Chris, what's this?"  
Jim's kneecaps had stitches on them, beginning to fade now, but were there. Probably a half-assed dermal regenerator job.

Chapel pressed against the faint marks over his knee and shot her head back to face McCoy, stunned.

"Looks like he's had surgery."

McCoy nodded gravely, "Portable XRay," he ground out, taking the medical PADD from Chapel and hovering it over Jim's knees.  
It showed a very obvious cut in the ligaments in his knees.

"Damn, no wonder he can't walk…" he breathed, running the device over the rest of Jim's figure.

Then he remembered.

"Check his mouth. If I ain't seeing things, I saw something weird when he was talkin' earlier," he muttered, relieved that no other bone was broken, thankfully.

Chapel swiftly stood beside Jim's head and pressed her thumb down against his chin, prying his mouth open.  
And sure enough, unfortunately, there were something half-transparent slotted over his teeth.

McCoy briefly glanced over and saw it for himself, quickly moving beside her.

"Let me see," he urged, replacing Chapel's thumb with his and frowning at whatever it was that was covering Jim's teeth. "The hell's this?"

Chapel shrugged and took a step back, "Looks to me like a mouth guard that dentists would give years ago. Except it looks…" she peered over briefly, "Attached somehow?"

McCoy nodded and bit his lip. There weren't any visible signs of it being surgically attached, and yet it couldn't be moved.

"What the hell for, though…" he grumbled, running a finger along the edge of the material, "Edges are soft, but why would he—" he froze, remembering what he had seen on a video that Spock had sent to him.

"What?" Chapel urged, noticing his rare hesitation.

"I think I know what happened, but I damn well hope I'm wrong," he griped, looking up and glancing across the room, "Get me a swab test."

 _My god…they tried to make his bite soft…and they wouldn't want to do that just to stop the kid from eating._

Chapel passed him a swab, and McCoy quickly wiped a few times on Jim's tongue, and at the back of his throat.  
Handing it back to Chapel, he sighed, "Get that tested." And she took off to the other side of the room.

Frustrated, McCoy slumped down onto a chair, losing himself in the rhythmic beeping of Kirk's steady monitors.

He shut his eyes. "Can't believe I subjected you to that psychopath, kid," he whispered, knowing damn well the kid was too _unconscious_ to hear him.

"You never needed to be sectioned, damn it…your old man Frank had you around his finger this whole time…" he ran a hand through Jim's dirty hair, making a mental note to wash him, as it was the least he could do.

Chapel returned promptly with the results highlighted on the PADD, dragging McCoy out of his wallowing misery.

"You got something?" he inquired, taking the PADD from her.

"Multiple DNA traces in his mouth. The strange thing is, they're from different people. Humans, mind you," she replied, folding her arms behind her back and waiting for her boss' analysis.

McCoy tossed the PADD onto Jim bed and run a hand through his hair in despair.

"It's what I thought, he's…someone's raped him, Chris, loads of people," he muttered, leaning over and propping his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

Chapel remained silent for a few seconds, unsure of how to approach him, then turned to Jim. "His BP has raised a little bit, but he _is_ a little feverish," she noted, trying to change the subject, "Should we wake him?"

Groaning inwardly, McCoy sighed and nodded, "Yeah, go ahead. See if he knows anything else," he groused, standing out of his seat and redoing Jim's vital readings, "God knows what else that bastard Frank has done that we can't see."

Tentatively, McCoy swiped a hypospray from the nearby tray and pressed it gently into the crook of Jim's arm.

It took mere moments before Jim's slack eyelids began to flutter.

* * *

 **A/N: Eyy the next chapter is the last one, where basically loose ends are tied with a nice dose of hurt comfort.**

 **If you can, please guide your cursor to the comments section or the fav/kudos button and acknowledge the reading that I have presented to you.**


	14. Chapter 14

**...I don't know what happened here, it was supposed to be a quick ending but then I wanted to be detailed.**  
 **I wanted to write the "treatment" parts as detailed and drawn out as possible to get the feeling with what Kirk is going through, as with most of this chapter he's facing his new found medical phobias, thanks to Reagan.**

 **Anyway this is the last chapter, so I hope you enjoy this extended very angsty piece of writing.**

* * *

 _Last time: Jim was used as a sex slave to get money from clients by Frank. They were found, and Jim was rescued._

* * *

Jim's eyes fluttered as his mind fought its way to consciousness, trudging through the flurry of drugs that inhibited his system.

He felt detached from the world, as if he was floating in a dream.

Voices echoed everywhere, and for a moment he couldn't pinpoint what they said, he didn't try to. But as he climbed further to consciousness, the world began to make a funny kind of sense.

A familiar voice boomed in his ear.

"Jim? You with me, darlin'?" the southern drawl was a comfort to Kirk.

Memories began to slowly resurface to the forefront of his mind.

"Frrr'nk?" Jim slurred, the entire room blurred and swishing around. He vaguely felt a hand on his arm.

"He's in the brig, Jim. You're on the Enterprise," the voice reassured him, "You're safe."

Jim sluggishly rolled his head to the side, the room tilting and blurring with him.

"Mmm'wasappen…" he tried to focus on something in the room, but his vision was just a mixture of mostly shades of white, and a few blues.

"It'll come back to you, Jim," the voice sounded a little hesitant, hiding something perhaps, "Are you in any pain?"

Jim stopped and turned his focus from the ceiling to whether he was in pain or not. He decided he didn't hurt, he was just kinda…floaty.

"Nooo," Kirk replied, beginning to get a little frustrated now at how out of touch he felt with the world. It was just a mess of colours and blurs.

Almost as if some unforeseen space god read his mind, he felt a sudden warm sensation spreading in his neck, before the world seemed to even itself out.

Eventually as objects in his vision pieced itself together, he noticed where he was.

Bones was hovering over him, as per usual, looking like he hadn't slept in days. There were dark rings under his eyes, a dark stubble forming, a scowl present that was so deep that it'd probably got stuck after being there for a week.

"B'nes…" Jim blinked slowly, the warm feeling spreading to his stomach when his friend smiled at him.

"Yeah, kid?"

Jim opened his mouth to ask _what happened_ again, only to be answered by his own memories.

 _He took me._

 _Used me as a circus sex clown._

 _Fuck._

"B'nes…where's Frank?" Jim croaked, an urgent feeling niggling at the back of his mind, but something in him was stopping him from panicking.

Bones stopped hovering over him and sighed, taking his place on a stool beside Kirk and leaning onto the bed.

He turned towards Jim, "He's in the brig, Jim, like I said. They've got Reagan, too."

The cogs in Jim's brain took a while to finishing rotating, but slowly Jim nodded and took in the depth of his situation. He swore he felt himself sank deeper into the mattress.

McCoy's hand clasped around Jim's, "Listen, Jim," he paused and glanced down at the rest of Kirk's prone figure, shutting his eyes for a moment and taking another breath. "I need you to tell me everything you remember that Reagan did to you."

A knot formed in Jim's stomach as his horrid experience began to return to him. "Why…why Reagan?" he murmured, his speech beginning to sort itself out.

Bones squeezed his hand tighter, "Because according to Starfleet's records, he's an unlicensed surgeon that operates on people," he explained carefully, knowing Jim himself was a victim mere days ago, "And most of the time, these surgeries are just experiments."

Jim's eyes retreated back to staring at his blankets, fingers twitching as the memories engulfed him.

"I need to know everything he did to you, so that I can fix it. You understand?"

Bones felt the fingers in his hands grow more shaky, sweaty, as Jim began to work himself up with anxiety.  
Gently, he rubbed a thumb across the fingers enclosed in his hand, hoping to encourage the words out of him.

"I think I was asleep," Jim whispered, his voice low and quivering, "I was acting all weird and happy…I mean I was a little anxious but…" he stopped there, pausing and considering how to phrase his words without bursting into tears like a kid.

McCoy didn't care if he cried though. It was a normal reaction, in fact, he would welcome any tears Jim would have to offer right now. "What happened after that?"

"Reagan pried my mouth open with gag," Jim swallowed hard, squeezing past the ball in his throat, "I remember him saying I couldn't be awake and that Frank was nuts or something, he put a mask over my nose and the next thing I know, I'm awake and everything hurts."

McCoy nodded, internally grateful that the man had even a slight bit more of human decency than Frank did. "Did he say anything about what he did?"

"Um…" Jim frowned, everything was quite a blur after this, "He said something about my knees, and Frank; he made me…" he stopped again, slamming his mouth shut and almost gagging.

McCoy knew what he was trying to say, and hating himself for understanding it, "I'm sorry, kid…" he murmured, releasing Jim's hand and running his fingers through the blonde hair, trying to provide an act of comfort through all the interrogating.

"Something about a chip," Jim remembered, gingerly pulling his arm up from his chest and weakly dragging it across his scalp, "He did something that made it hurt here a lot, but I don't remember…" the sentence was cut off again, this time by a quiet sob, "It just hurt…"

Heaving a sigh, Bones scooted his chair closer and pulled Jim into his embrace the best he could with the man lying on a biobed.

They sat there cuddling for about a minute, before finally McCoy broke away to inform him of the next steps.

"I've taken a look at your knees while you were out, I'm fairly sure I can—"

He froze.

"Wait a minute, your _head_?"

Jim sniffed and warily nodded, gazing up at McCoy's suddenly worried expression.

 _So, the frown wasn't permanently etched onto his face, then._

"Huh, let me look," he muttered, reaching behind Jim and sliding a hand over his back, "Lean forward a sec."

Kirk obliged, decisively wanting to do anything to rid of the pain in his head.

As Bones poked and prodded around the back of his skull, Jim occupied himself with his fingers, twisting them around until finally Bones jabbed a sore spot.

"Ow!" he yelped, swiping the hand away and scowling back at the startled doctor.

"Yeah, somethings wrong with your head then," McCoy declared, grabbing his tricorder from the side and running it over Jim's head, "But something's always been wrong with your head, you damned idiot."

Jim pouted, "It's from being around you, Bones, it's rubbing off on me," he snapped back. Bones offered a sly smirk before giving him a playful nudge on the shoulder.

"There is something lodged in that brain of yours, but I can't see what it is unless I get you in a better scanning machine," he informed Kirk, "The tricorder doesn't cut it."

Jim felt his hairs stand on end, "I don't wanna go inside a machine, Bones."

Bones only smiled. "I don't really need to. I know it's small and I know where it is. I just need to remove it."

Absorbing all this information, Jim nodded and tentatively started reclining his head back to the pillow, relieved when Bones let him as he didn't need to start prodding again.

"And as tempting as it is to just sew your mouth shut, I need to bring you in to the ship's dentist and remove whatever the fuck is over your teeth."

Jim glared, "That's a lot of surgery I need to go through."

Bones glared back at him, "And there's a lot of surgery that Frank already put you through. I can't leave you like this, Jim."

"So, I've just woken up from a traumatic kidnapping and used as Frank's sex slave for money, and you want to stick your fingers in my brain and let some stranger go drilling around in my mouth, as if that _wasn't_ what just happened a week ago!"

Bones stood up out of his seat and grabbed a sedative, just in case, "Calm down, Jim. I'll make sure you meet with her beforehand," he sighed inwardly at the death glares Jim was giving him, "And if you'd prefer to never walk again and have every crewman in the vicinity to be staring at the coating on your teeth, that's fine by me."

Jim balled his fingers into a fist, "They'll get used to it. I can still command without having any surgery whatsoever."

Bones' eyes softened, "No, you can't, Jim."

That was it.

"You can't fucking dictate whether I can run my damn ship or not!" Jim shouted, nearly toppling sideways when he sat forward on his knees, "You're just pissed because I'm the reason why you have a shit load of paperwork to do!"

McCoy sighed, deciding to end this here and now. He gripped Jim's arm with one hand and attempted to fit a hypospray somewhere. _Attempted._

"What, you're gonna sedate me because you can't think of a counterargument?" Jim's lips were trembling now, his face flushed red and ready to start sobbing, but the tears wouldn't come.

"No, I'm sedating you because you're stressed and upset," McCoy replied, trying again at grabbing Jim's arm, only to be shoved away at surprising strength.

"Get that shit away from me, Doctor McCoy."

Bones froze at the formal use of his rank and name, something that Kirk hardly ever did.

"Relax, Jim, I just want you to calm down, that's all."

Jim inhaled sharply, his fear of the situation instead portrayed with extreme anger, "I _am_ relaxed! It's you who's the fucking prob—" Kirk all of a sudden sagged and slumped onto the bed.

But it wasn't because of a sedative.

"Jim?" McCoy tossed the hypo aside and stared up at his flashing red vitals. Everything but his temperature was plummeting. "Jim? Can you hear me?"  
No reply.  
"Dammit. Nurse! Get in here!" he shouted, darting to the wall and grabbing a bag valve mask.

Chapel stormed into the room seconds later, looking at the vitals before the door had retracted out of her sight, "What's happened?"

"No idea, he was talking, just suddenly dropped unconscious," he relayed, "He's not breathing." McCoy pressed the valve mask over Jim's mouth and nose, tipped his jaw up and started squeezing the bag.

"Are the resus pads on him already?" Chapel asked, having just pressed a hypo of cordrazine into the crook of Jim's arm and nothing happening. She made her way around the bed to the resuscitation machine.

"Yeah, just do it," he urged, staring at Chapel's every move, which just seemed too slow.

"Stand clear," the nurse announced, McCoy removing the mask. The only sound in the room was a building high-pitched wail ringing in the air, before there was a loud staticky _boom_ and Kirk's body jolted on the bed.

When nothing happened, McCoy swore under his breath and continued delivering oxygen via the mask.

"Did Frank do anything to him that could have caused this?" Chapel asked, refilling another hypo of cordrazine.

"He said something about an implant, the tricorder showed something lodged into his brain," McCoy replied, paling at the sight of Jim's body, still squeezing on the bag.

"He's in the brig now, right? That's close enough to have a device to control the chip?"

McCoy suddenly glanced up in realisation, "Fuck. It's _Frank_ ," he ground out, realising that the man must have tried to kill him now that he'd been caught.

When another hypo of cordrazine went in futilely, Chapel scurried to the machine again, "Stand clear."

Again, McCoy stepped away from Jim, as another high-pitched wail resonated in the air, before Jim's body jerked and collapsed.

Like music to Bones' ears, the steady beep of a stable heartrate sounded from the monitors, signifying Jim was safe, for now.

"Thank god," Bones mumbled, placing the mask aside and letting out a sigh of relief, "We need to get him into surg—"

Then like a switch, the monitors sprung to life out of control, beeping and screaming for attention as Kirk's body suddenly jolted and thrashed on the bed.

"Seizure!" McCoy shouted, running back to the bed and pressing his hands over Jim's chest as best he could.

"Phenobarbital going in!" Chapel announced, pressing the hypo to Jim's straining neck.

After a few seconds passed and Jim's body didn't seem to be doing anything other than convulse, McCoy grit his teeth and gestured to his medkit that was lying half open under the bed, "Five milligrams of tricordrazine," he ordered, struggling against Jim's flailing limbs.

Quickly, Chapel darted into action and swiped the medkit from out under the bed, locating the medication and slotted it into the hypo.

As soon as it was administered in Jim's neck, the seizure tapered off until there were only muscle twitches and slight spasms.

"Christ," McCoy spat, gingerly releasing his hands from Jim's chest and relieved at the monitors settling into a normal rhythm. "Get Spock to take security into Frank's containment and search him, he's obviously trying to kill him from behind bars. I'm gonna take Jim into surgery."

Chapel nodded, "Yes sir," and left to retrieve her communicator.

Bones watched her leave, then sighed, pressing a button on the wall to request transport.

"You don't make anything easy, do ya kid?" he asked the unconscious blonde. He was breathing steady now, though his face had quickly gone from red to a scary shade of grey.

McCoy reached to Jim's fingers and squeezed his hand, hoping that even unconsciously, Jim would know that Bones always cared, and that Bones would always fix him.

* * *

 _Brig—Frank's cell._

Spock strode into the room like a man on a mission, followed by three serious-looking security guards. McCoy had told him what Frank had likely did to his Captain merely minutes ago, and was _feeling_ the Vulcan equivalent of anger.

Not that he'd admit that, but it was clear on his face.

"Frank," Spock announced, stopping outside the older man's prison door, "Prepare to be searched."

As the door opened, the other man simply laughed and threw his hands up. "What's this, huh? An innocent old man still a threat to you even tucked away in this shit-hole?"

Spock narrowed his eyes dangerously, "You are not innocent, and you are not a threat to anyone on this ship. However, I am aware of your attempts to murder the Captain and I will remedy this."

Frank shrugged as the guards surrounded him, scanning him with a various assortment of devices and patting him down, "I assure you, Mister Spock, I can't do shit sitting in here. And I'm not capable of murder."

"He's clear, sir," one of the redshirts announced, looking up to Spock for instructions.

Spock however was not convinced.

"Search his cell. We will not leave until we find something."

"Aye sir," all three of them said, rallying off to all four corners of the small room and searching for anything that could be dangerous.

Frank watched them, scoffing, "Search all you want, you won't find anything but little old me in here," he sneered, then turning back to Spock, who looked as if he were about ready to commit murder himself.

After ten minutes of searching and Frank complaining, the guards made their way back to Spock, frowning, "There's nothing here sir," one man said.

"Absolutely nothing," said another, "We've searched every nook and cranny."

In the corner of his eye, Spock could see Frank smirking. It was logical that the man was hiding something.

"Frank," Spock stated the name loudly to get his attention, "The Captain went into cardiac arrest approximately twenty minutes ago, furthermore he suffered a seizure, both of which has been overcome. This was not by coincidence, especially as we are aware of the implant that you have put into his brain—"

"Oh, _I_ didn't put the implant in his brain, Spock—"

"—Therefore, it is only logical to assume that you are controlling this implant and are causing the events. I advise you to be forthcoming with your confession and tell us where the controller is."

Frank raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to mock the Vulcan, not at all feeling threatened by him. "Nice, where'd you learn that sentence, does it work on all the men?"

Spock remained staring at him for a decent answer.

Frank sighed, "Why the hell you searching _me_ for? Reagan was the guy who put the damn thing in his brain."

After a few more seconds of a staring competition, Spock turned to the redshirts and gestured to the door, "We will investigate Reagan's cell," he decided, "Lead the way, gentlemen."

As the four men left, Frank remained behind smirking at the one redshirt that kept their eye on him as the doors slid shut.

* * *

 _Brig—Reagan's cell._

Reagan on the other hand was staring contemplatively at the floor, sitting on his bed and wallowing in self-pity.

Why oh why did he agree to help Frank with this shitty plan? He only agreed to remove Jim's enamel for his experiment and that was it. But the damn psychopath dragged him into everything else, doing monstrous things to the innocent young man.

Stopping the man from walking again, putting a hideous-looking sealant over all his teeth which even the 20th century era made look more appealing, inserting an implant into his brain so that he was constantly drugged into being obedient, and so Frank could punish for misbehaviour.

Well, at least one of the latter was true.

Looking up, he heard footsteps approaching his cell. Three redshirts and the guy that had squeezed his shoulder into unconsciousness, somehow.

"Reagan." Spock greeted, knowing he was a little more humane than Frank was.

"Sir," he greeted back, wondering what the occasion was. Was it time for his trial already?

"Are you aware of the recent events transpiring around the Captain?"

Reagan blinked, "You mean Jim?"

"Affirmative."

"Well, I know what I did, you don't have to make me repeat it for a third time. Yes, I cut his ligaments, I put an implant in his brain, I ruined his teeth, what more do you want?" he moaned, "Be happy that I flogged out of the obedience part."

Spock shook his head, "No, I am referring to the incident twenty-three minutes ago, where the Captain had a seizure—" he stopped, his Vulcan brain telling him to repeat the last part of Reagan's sentence in his head. "Explain what you mean by, _'flogging out of the obedience part'_."

Reagan swallowed hard. He hadn't told anyone about this, especially not Frank. He'd have probably been shot right there and then, or used for sexual appeal or—

"Reagan. Explain."

Reagan jolted, "Alright, I'll talk," he sighed, "Frank told me that the chip in his head should give him control over shocking him and actually _making_ him obedient," he frowned, "But he also got me to stop him from ever walking again, he was in so much pain…he woke up half-way through, crying, I gave him a medicine to make him amnesic to the event."

Spock let out an irritated Vulcan-sigh, "Continue."

"Uh, well I felt bad. If he was obedient he'd just be a vegetable, I didn't want that, he's still so young and I only agreed to remove the enamel from his teeth for _my own_ experiment. So, I made the shocking chip, and didn't alter his brain chemistry."

Spock frowned, "If you did not make him obedient, how was Frank unable to find out?"

Reagan smiled at that, "I gave him injections daily. I mean we were only there for two or three days, so it was hard to get caught. I mixed them into sedatives, mixed them into the anti-convulsant, and he was convulsing so much that I had loads of chances to get the drugs to him."

Spock nodded. This was admittedly good news. It would however explain the report of Jim's lucidity, likely from the lack of injections since being caught.

"The injections were the same ones used on him before Frank kidnapped him. They worked back then, but his body became so used to it that they just made him confused and sleepy. He wanted to help Frank, I think he adored him because of the injections, but because they were less-effective he wasn't as obedient. Frank hurt him a lot."

Spock nodded. This was information useful to relay back to the doctor. "I thank you for your confession, and your decision against altering the Captain's brain chemistry. The effects would have been…catastrophic."

Reagan nodded, "I'd keep an eye on his brain, though. He's had so many damn injections, he has a very high possibility of brain damage. I did warn him, I really did."

"I believe you, and I will inform the doctor. I am confident he can reverse any damage. However, I must get back to the issue at hand."

Reagan stood up, much to the surprise of the scattering redshirts, "Of course."

"The Captain went into cardiac arrest followed by a seizure due to the chip you have inserted in his brain. The implant is being remote controlled, and I must confiscate the item," Spock demanded, "We have already searched Frank's cell, there is nothing in his person that is suspicious or seems dangerous."

Reagan frowned, "He gave me this when we were being sorted into our cells," he admitted, walking to the side of his bed and picking up a remote device from the draw, "He was pressing it like crazy, said it didn't work then gave it to me."

Spock narrowed his eyes, "When approximately were you sorted into your cells?"

The prisoner shrugged, "About an hour ago."

Perhaps it was a delay. The wide distance between the cells and the Captain could have caused a delay, not to mention the interference beam upon entering the brig.

"You have been most helpful. I am grateful, although I still cannot comprehend the actions you took upon the Captain to injure him so," he remarked, taking the remote from Reagan.

Reagan slumped back onto the bed. "I didn't have a choice. He said if I didn't help him, he'd either have me killed or use me as a slave alongside Jim. I already took a big enough chance when I didn't alter his brain chemistry."

Spock nodded. He noticed that the man looked slightly older than Jim, perhaps Doctor McCoy's age.

Without another word, Spock and the security guards left, not looking back upon either of their prisoners as they left the brig.

* * *

 _Operating room._

"Bones…" Jim was wide awake on the table, having been woken up because according to McCoy, _'It's brain surgery, so unless you want to function remarkably close to a carrot, you need to stay awake.'_

"Yeah?" Bones stopped pacing and stepped in front of Jim, having been waiting for the news from Spock that the implant controller had been taken from Frank. He had been staring at the implant itself for ten minutes before growing frustrated and pacing back and forth.

"Can…you _please_ take off your mask…at least until you…carry on…" Jim breathed, still feeling a little pulled down by the anti-anxiety medications.

Bones frowned, but decided if it would make Jim feel at ease, he pulled it down under his chin. "Can't take it off, kid, but this is the best I can give ya."

Jim did his best to smile, "S'fine…better…" then quickly scowled again, "This is…cruel…"

Sighing, Bones sat down on the stool beside Jim's table. "And why's that?"

The blonde scoffed, "I don't wanna…be awake…for this…" which was true. Who _would_ want to be awake while someone has their fingers inside your brain and you can't move.

"Like I said, I can sedate you until we can continue, but you'll be drowsy when you wake up."

"But I don't wanna be sedateeed!" Jim whined, his fingers rubbing along his chest in frustration.

Bones rubbed his gloved hands across his face, "I know Jim, but—" the door suddenly burst open, another scrubbed-in nurse walking in. "They've got it?"

"Yup," the nurse confirmed, "Apparently Frank went nuts on the controls and threw it in Reagan's cell in an attempt to frame him. We have labs running DNA tests on them."

McCoy let out a sigh of relief. Finally, Jim was relatively safe from being electrocuted again and they could continue.

"But sir, there's something else," she warned, "Reagan said that Frank asked him to use the implant to alter his brain chemistry.

McCoy nodded, already informed of this by Jim, "I know, the kid's told me."

"Reagan confessed that he implanted the chip to a wireless shock remote, which is what Spock has, but he never used it to change his brain chemistry. Said he felt too bad for the young man, bless him."

Jim glanced up upon hearing this. Reagan didn't alter his brain chemistry…? Then there wasn't any chance of him being severely brain damaged!

"However, he gave Kirk hidden injections to give Frank the illusion that he was obedient. Also mentioned that he was shocked a lot, so there's still a very high chance of brain damage, particularly between the parietal and occipital lobe, where the implant was lodged," she added, "I would map out any damage while you have him open."

McCoy nodded, not sure what to make of this. The damage would have been much more severe if his brain chemistry was slowly being altered, he supposed Jim was lucky.

"Thanks, uh, Nurse…?"

"Carter, sir. Nurse Carter," she smiled, "I wanted to offer to scrub in."

McCoy grinned, "You're the one Jim's gonna see tomorrow, huh?" at least she seemed nice enough to deal with Jim, "But yeah, you're not queasy or anything, are ya?" he joked, walking back over to Jim and offering the best smile he could considering the situation.

"Wouldn't have become a nurse if I was, sir," she retorted back, pulling her mask up and walking behind Jim.

McCoy noticed Jim's hands becoming more fidgety, probably from the anxiety of the impending doom that was looming over him.

"Jim, you're gonna be fine, I promise," he whispered, sitting down to reassure him before digging his hands in his brain, "The damage isn't as severe as we thought, so there's a good chance that we can get the damn implant out and get you to start recuperating straight away."

He shakily replied, "What about my legs?"

"Your legs too. I can replace the ligament in both your knees but you're going to need a lot of PT."

Jim scrunched his hands up into fists and brought them towards his chest, McCoy reaching over to grip onto his forearm to offer comfort. He was starting to hyperventilate, and the monitors overhead were proving it.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmured, rubbing a thumb over Jim's trembling hand, "I'll just need you to do what I tell you to, so I know I'm in the right place. It won't take too long; we've already got it exposed; you _do_ have a brain shockingly enough, and the implant is right in front of me."

Jim nodded solemnly, his heart racing in his chest, despite the reassurances.

"Sir? We need to start as soon as possible."

McCoy grunted under his breath and gave Jim one last reassuring smile before pulling his mask up and joining his staff.

"Give him 2mg of midazolam, I want to make sure he's as calm as safely possible," he murmured to the nurse next to him.

"Of course, sir," she replied, while McCoy got to work.

Twenty minutes later, and Jim was relatively calm. The surgery was going smoothly, as per usual for Bones, and they were very close to removing the implant.

"I'm gonna remove it now, Jim, alright?" he warned him, retrieving a pair of tweezers and waiting for the reply.

There was a very slurred "yeeeah" from below him, so Bones took it as the affirmative and continued.

Jim frowned when the room was silent after thirty seconds. Bones usually mumbled nonsense to him the whole way through, to give him something to concentrate on.

"Bones?"

A sigh, and a _clang,_ "It's out, kid."

Jim himself took a moment to himself to relax. Now there could be no more shocks, no more seizures, no more hurting…

"I do need to check for damage, so uh, jus' bear with me for a little while longer, okay?" Bones' voice was thick deep in his southern drawl, extremely concentrated on something, whatever it was.

Jim shrugged it off, happy that he was finally free of that implant.

"You doin' okay?"

"Uh-huh…"

Jim heard some quiet murmurs behind him, beginning to get increasingly concerned.

"Raise your right hand for me, Jim."

Frowning, Jim struggled, through what he supposed was the drugs, but was able to sluggishly move it past the white sheets and in the air.

"Good." It was back to silence after that.

Then two minutes later…

"What'd you want from the replicator tonight, Jim?"

If he wasn't in such a horrible situation, Jim would have laughed at the out-of-place question.

"Mmm…m'dnno…"

"What's that?"

He made a "I dunno" humming noise at the back of his throat and left it at that.

"I need your words, Jim." The man sounded impatient. Jeez.

"Said…dunno…maybe…ugh…"

"You want a hamburger?"

Jim's eyes lit up, "You…let me?"

"Yep. You weigh less than a twig, so damn it all I'll give you hamburgers if it means you'll eat."

Jim lightly chuckled to himself, then sighed. He was exhausted.

"Left arm?"

Jim blinked, "Wha'?"

"Raise your left arm."

Scowling, Jim obeyed. The doctor _could_ be a bit kinder to him. He was awake for his own surgery and he couldn't see anyone at all. They were all behind him, in his head.

Just as that thought came to mind, another doctor appeared in his line of vision, walked to the feet of his bed and pulled the sheet up above his ankles.

"Wha'you doing…" Jim slurred, his eyes beginning to flutter. Vaguely, he began to hear a pulsating beep from behind him, followed by voices calling for his name, but he welcomed darkness as it came.

* * *

"Jim."

….

"Jim."

….

"Jim, I know you're in there."

Kirk moaned. Had he fallen asleep? He was still exhausted.

"Just do one thing for me, wiggle your toes."

He moaned again. _Screw off and let me sleep._

"Jim." The voice was not kidding this time.

"F'ne" he mumbled, wiggling his toes with ease.

"Good. We're gonna close up now and move onto your legs, so you can go to sleep, alright?"

Jim grunted. He was already asleep, no thanks to them.

"You did good, Jim. Real good."

Another grunt.

He waited for another voice to ask something of him, but instead he felt something warm enter his right arm. Then he was sleeping again.

* * *

 _Medbay._

The next grace to wakefulness wasn't so peaceful, as this time he was abruptly awoken by a blinding white light piercing one of his eyes.

"Nnnngh…!" Jim moaned, attempted to swipe his hand at the intrusion.

"There he is," a voice echoed, the light disappearing from his left eye and reappearing in his right, "Open your eyes for me."

Jim grunted. Didn't this happen five minutes ago?

"Get out o'my eye" he slurred, refusing to open his left one.

A sigh, "C'mon, Jim, I've let you sleep for the past six hours."

Or not.

Slowly, he cracked his left eye open, being rewarded with the piercing light disappearing from his right. Bones faded into view above him, except he was out of his surgical scrubs and was back in whites.

"We're all done," the man remarked, "It went fine, like I told you it would," he said proudly.

Jim groaned, "Don't y'wan' me t' wigg' my toes?"

Bones smiled, "Nope, I already got you to do that four hours ago."

"But…I don't remember it."

"Because you were really drugged to hell and in a shit load of pain, but like the great surgeon I am, you're right as rain now and are doped up on even more drugs than the entire medicine cabinet combined," then he paused, "Well, not _that_ drugged, but—"

"Wha' 'bout…legs?" Jim was generally concerned about his legs. Did they fix them? Will he walk again?

Bones leaned in closer and yanked Jim's gown back, probably looking at his legs.

"Yeah, they're still there," he teased with a smirk.

Jim moaned loudly, "Boooones!"

"They're absolutely fine, Jim," Bones sighed, "I've regrown the ligaments and your body isn't rejecting them so far. You'll need PT starting from tomorrow after your…yeah."

Jim didn't even want to think about tomorrow entailed, so he settled for twisting his neck to face him properly and forcing a weak smile, "Thanks, Bones…"

Bones offered a genuine warm smile, "You're welcome, kid. Told you I'd fix you up. Ya even have a brain, wouldn't have believed it if I didn't witness it myself."

Jim frowned and gave a weak shove before addressing his next concern, "How much…damage…"

"There was a very high chance of damage, and there _is_ some, Jim," McCoy softly told him, to Jim's shock.

Oh god, does this mean he can't command? How can he run a ship with brain damage!

" _But_ ," the doctor interjected at seeing Jim's rise to panic, "As you can tell, it's not severe, and it's not limiting. I can treat it over a course of around three months maybe more. You won't be able to command until then."

Jim blinked up at him hopefully… "It's…it's not too...bad?"

Bones shook his head, "No, it's not too severe. All the seizures that Frank forced on you caused slight damage in your occipital lobe. You might have problems with your vision, or processing visual information with the world, so to say. Which is why I can't let you command until I've treated it."

Jim nodded, but was confused. He could see fine, he could see Bones in front of him, he could see where he was…

"But...I can see everything…fine…"

Bones smiled, "That's good. I said it _might_ affect you. But either way, it has to be written up and if Starfleet finds I let you back, regardless of whether you _think_ you're fine, they'll get us both sacked, and I don't want to lose you, Jim."

Jim swallowed hard at this, more so for Bones' gesture of affection than the idea of losing the Enterprise, although that was scary too.

"Three months?" he asked.

"Three months."

"I guess…that's better than a lifetime…"

"It sure is. You're lucky all things considering," Bones shifted and grasped hold of his arm, though Jim was too tired to see what he was doing.

Jim smiled, "Mmm…r'ly lucky…" his eyelids starting fluttering, and he silently cursed Bones and his sedatives as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

"…..'he eaten?"

"No, the idiot hasn't bothered to wake up since last night."

"Maybe he should eat before I take him in?"

"Nah, I'm concerned he'll throw it up if he has a hissy fit. Better to feed him afterwards."

Jim groaned as the haze of sedatives began to wear off.

"Ah, he awakens."

Kirk half expected to find Spock upon opening his eyes after that sentence, but he only found Bones and a familiar woman that he didn't even know the name of. The room was moving too. Fast.

Jim bent his head back to stare at the ceiling, giggling to himself as the lights sped by, confusing his mind as he tried to digest the information.

"You got him on the good stuff?" the woman joked, who was on the end of his moving bed.

"Hell yeah, he's drugged on every anxiety medication he's not allergic to. Should be wearing off soon though, the last shot I gave him was at 0600 hours." Bones was beside him, scanning him as they moved, as usual.

"Did you sit with him _all night_?" the nurse laughed, seemingly having good banter with Bones.

"'Course I did, just making sure he doesn't have any complications after those two major surgeries," his friend bit back.

Two opposite doors slid open, and Jim was wheeled into a room with a smell that brought back bad memories.

"Jim?" the bed halted, and McCoy appeared to the left of his vision, "This is Nurse Carter, she's gonna fix the absolute mess that your mouth is in," he gestured to the nurse at the end of the bed, who looked up and smiled.

Jim frowned, "…M'member you…"

Carter walked beside him, next to McCoy, "Yep, I was helping with your surgery yesterday. I wanted to oversee a major op, rather than just working with the big holes in people's mouths," she laughed, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Jim flinched away. "Don't want this…" the last time he came face to face in a dental op, it was with Reagan, and that caused excruciating pain for four hours.

"C'mon, how'd you think anyone's gonna flirt with you if your mouth looks like that?" McCoy joked, "You look like someone who's been sprayed in the face with car sealant from the 20th century."

It was true, his entire mouth was pretty much coated with a weird white material that made his bite soft, but his teeth looked a mess.

"M'guess I'll have to live with it," Jim shut his eyes, trying to calm the quelling nausea in his stomach. The next thing he knew, McCoy was running a hand through his hair, trying to comfort him, not saying a word. He was doing that a lot lately.

"I know you're scared," Bones finally whispered, "But with the condition your mouth is in, you won't be able to eat again."

Jim shook his head, inching McCoy's hand out of his hair, "I don't want it…" memories of last week played in his mind. Being strapped down to the chair, a gag forcing his mouth open uncomfortably wide, sitting there for four hours while Reagan was drilling into his teeth, screaming and crying and begging them to stop while Reagan completely ignored him, as if it was normal.

And now they wanted to put him in the chair again, stick those drills in his mouth, to fix the mess Reagan made. No way…

"I promise, Jim," McCoy squeezed his hand, "After this, all you'll need to do is recover. You can have that hamburger I promised."

Jim's arms were trembling, but McCoy's thoughts were playing on his mind.

Carter was someone that McCoy trusted, but then again, Frank was someone McCoy trusted and look how that went.

"Please, Jim," Bones begged him, "Just do it for me."

At that, Jim caved in and nodded warily, sitting up but paused as a question came into his mind.

"Is…is Carter's name on the Starfleet register?"

Instantly, Carter, who Jim didn't even realise was watching him, stepped over to Jim with her PADD in hand.

"Of course, sweetheart. This is Starfleet's medical register, and this is me. I'm a certified dental nurse, and look, here's McCoy, see?" she scrolled down to McCoy's name and CMO rank, letting Jim know that she was in the same band of medical staff as McCoy. And McCoy was her boss.

McCoy nodded to him, giving a subtle hint of approval.

"M'kay," Jim mumbled, "But Bones if this happens again, I will actually sack you this time." Jim said the sentence with more anger and harshness than he had intended.

McCoy's face paled for a second, thinking Jim was serious, before noticing the quick change of expression and forcing a laugh.

"Alright kid, but you won't need to," then he paused, "Would it help if I stayed with you?"

At that, Jim rapidly shook his head in distaste, "No, no way. I don't want anyone to see."

Bones chose not to point out sarcastically that the nurses in the room could see. Instead, he gently grasped Jim's wrist. "You can't walk yet, obviously, so we're just gonna shuffle you onto the chair," he offered, his hands flailing when Jim effortlessly shuffled himself onto the chair without help.

Obviously, he was beginning to get his "I'm James T Kirk and I don't need help from anyone because I'm strong and powerful" mojo back.

"Alright, smartass," McCoy smirked, as Jim began to realise again what was about to happen as he settled in the chair. It wasn't reclined yet, which probably was the saving grace for why he hadn't immediately burst into a panic attack. His psychiatry degree days told him to wait until he was accepting of the situation before reclining him flat.

Someone entered the room at that moment, another nurse.

"Oh, Jim, this is my assistant, nurse Cessa." Carter announced to him, as Cessa moved around to take her seat beside Carter.

"Hi," Jim said almost in a whisper, his knuckles going white as he gripped the armrests too firmly.

"Heya Jim," Cessa greeted, perking up when realising it was the Captain. He'd never been in for an appointment before, probably because it wasn't mandatory.

As Cessa began to attach a bib around Jim's neck, the blonde shot his head to McCoy, "You can leave now." He didn't want anyone to watch what was likely to be a weak moment.

Tentatively, McCoy nodded, backing his way out very slowly. He knew that Jim wasn't ready to be in there on his own, there was just no way. What he had experienced last week was traumatic, and going through it again was surely to set off another panic attack.

But Jim's pride overtook his self-preservation, as usual, and the only thing he could do was help out in medbay until the obvious call came in asking for him to return because Jim threw a tray across the room or something.

Sighing, he allowed the door to shut and left.

"Alright, Jim," Carter wheeled closer and gave him what looked like sunglasses, "Just pop these on for me and we'll lower you back, since it'll be kinda difficult doing it sitting up," she smirked, giving a gentle pat on the shoulder and wheeling off sideways.

She was informed by McCoy about what happened and had pretty much been ordered to treat him as a severely nervous patient. Which was fine, as that was her speciality back on Earth.

Jim slid them on with difficulty, his arms still trembling and his breaths getting more rapid. One side of his mind told him to stop being such a pitiful child and just get on with it, and the other side of him replayed the many memories of last week as an excuse to get up and run for his life.

"Will this take long?" he croaked, chastising himself internally for how weak he sounded.

 _I'm a Captain first and foremost. Set an example._ He tried to encourage himself.

"Perhaps an hour, maybe two. I'll do it as quickly as safely possible."

Jim merely nodded, unable to speak at this point.

 _Just do this, Jim. Do it for Bones. You're not like this, you're stronger than this._

"Okay, gonna lie you back now alright? Then I'll give you a minute to adjust."

Again, Jim nodded, reassuring himself in his head that this was very little compared to what he'd been through before.

 _Get through this to fuck over Frank. Fuck Frank. Fuck—Oh god the chair is moving, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god—_

"You okay?" Cessa asked when Jim was flat on his back. She noticed the trembling arms and glanced warily to Carter.

"I'm fine," Jim lied, folding his arms over his chest in an attempt to look in control.

So, Carter wheeled over with a contraption in her hand. Jim's heart raced as he remembered something similar being forced into his mouth to keep it pried open last week.

"Now, this is a jaw retractor," she explained, making sure Jim was well informed, "Because you're going to have your jaw open for a long time, it will start to ache, and you'll struggle to keep it open. This is just going to keep it open for you, okay?"

Jim swallowed hard, "So, uh, you're essentially forcing my mouth open." He'd seen this before. With Reagan.

Carter simply smiled gently despite the rude tone, "You might not feel in control of your jaw if this is holding it open for you, that's true. But if you want me to stop at any time, just raise your hand and I'll give you a break."

Jim gazed at the kindness on her face, so much different to the snarky smirks smeared over his captive's face's last week.

 _I'm totally going to banish dentistry from being practiced once I get my command back._

Squeezing the armrests harder, Jim nodded his acceptance.

"Okay. Now what's gonna happen is, I'm gonna go ahead and put this in your mouth, then I'll give a couple of injections numb it all up, there will be no pain," she explained carefully, "Then you'll just have to lie there bored for an hour while I fix everything, and we'll be done."

Jim was extremely grateful for the explanation. What completely softened the blow though was the fact there would be no pain.

"Okay" he mumbled quietly, knowing he had just agreed to what was likely his doom.

"Alright sweetheart, now I'm gonna pop this in your mouth, so open up for me…"

Clenching onto the armrests like they were his lifeline, he gingerly obeyed her, allowing the nurse to slot it inside.

 _Just do it. Do it. Do it. You're a Captain, you can do this. Do it for Bones, think about Bones, think about Spock, just do it, just do it…_

"There you go," Carter replied, her smile reaching her eyes, "You doing okay?"

Jim was almost wheezing breaths, but nodded over-enthusiastically. He began to feel the tears start to well in his eyes. He was terrified, and no amount of self-reassurance was going to distract him from that.

Slowly, the assistant, Cessa, wheeled beside him with a tool in her hand, Jim hadn't seen Reagan use it before.

Carter picked up something from the—oh god it was a hypo.

"Just gonna numb you up, alright?"

Jim nodded, his breaths coming in shuddering gasps that he tried to hide. When Carter leaned over, Jim squeezed his eyes shut and dug his nails into the armrests.

There was a pinch. And that was it.

"All done."

Jim opened his eyes.

"Am ung?"

"Yep, you'll start going numb soon," Carter was miraculously able to translate from gibberish into English. Or perhaps it was the universal translator.

After a few minutes, Carter subtly nodded to Cessa, and then picked up what Jim's rapidly beating heart recognised as the dental drill.

"I'm gonna get started now sweetheart," she said softly, "If you need a break, just raise your hand."

The second she turned on the drill and the sound rang in the air, Jim's mind was plagued by the exact same noise from last week, the pain, the screaming, the terror, everything.

As it descended towards his mouth, Jim couldn't help but start kicking and screaming on the chair, as if the drill was his mortal enemy, worse than the Klingons, worse than Romulans, his ultimate adversary, Starfleet's arch enemy—then the sound stopped. And only his kicking and screaming were heard.

"It's alright sweetheart, just relax, it's alright," she comforted him, placing a hand on his shoulder to gently stop him from kicking and flailing. When Jim's behaviour didn't settle, she gestured to Cessa to get the retractors out of his mouth. "I've put the drill aside, just relax."

But Jim didn't relax. He was terrified, and he didn't want to be here. He didn't. He had to get out, he had to run.

Cessa removed the retractors, and Jim screaming turned into sobbed words immediately.

"I don't-I don't-I don't-I don't-I wanna go-I wanna-I wanna-I-I wanna-Let me-go-Please-Please!"

Carter rubbed her hand up and down his arm. "Sweetheart, no-one is going to hurt you, okay? But I need you to stop kicking, you're gonna hurt yourself."

"Pleeeease! Let me go!" Jim sobbed frantically, continuing and flail around like a fish washed up on shore.

Biting her lip, Carter decided to raise the chair upright again, hoping the feeling of control would help Jim calm down.

It didn't.

"I don't want this! I don't! I wanna leave! Get-get off me! Get off! Get-I wanna-leave-I…I wanna leave!"

Carter shot her head to Cessa, "Get Doctor McCoy," she murmured, watching as her assistant immediately wheeled over to the comm.

"I don't wanna!"

"It's okay, no-one is doing anything…it's okay, shhh…"

"I don't want-I don't want you to hurt-hurt me-"

"Nobody is going to hurt you, Jim, it's okay, it's all gonna be alright…"

But Jim's brain wracked his thoughts with Reagan, leaning over him, drill in hand and ignoring his pleas to stop.

Cessa wheeled back over to Carter and whispered behind her ear.

 _"He's coming."_

 _"Thanks love."_

Jim thrashed, "I don't want it!"

"I know, we're not going to do it."

"Please!" Jim cried out, "Please!" Jim couldn't get another word out as his breathing was too frantic for the syllables to form on his lips, strange noising escaping instead.

"Breathe, Jim, breathe…"

Jim stared at her as if she was Frank, and had just kicked his puppy.

"Breathe…calm down…" she coaxed, running a hand behind his back, "Breathe…"

He shook his head, his lips gaping as he tried to form words, his body realising he was starving of oxygen making his panic worse.

"Deep breaths sweetheart," Carter mumbled, "Slow deep breaths, nice and slow…"

Jim's throat sounded like it had tried to follow her advice for two seconds and gave up, his eyes were wide with unbridled terror.

Just then, the doors hissed open, and Jim shot his head over to see who else had come to hurt him, only for it to be Bones. Bones would save him.

"What the hell happened?" he asked, quickly kneeling in front of Jim's chair and taking his hands in his own, "Breathe, darlin', breathe…" he repeated the words of Carter from only a minute earlier.

"He was coping until I turned on the drill, went completely frantic. Full blown panic attack in seconds," Carter informed him.

Jim's mind was able to focus directly on Bones and nothing else, hanging onto him like it was his lifeline.

"I can't do it Bones, I can't," Jim gasped, his fingers clawing at McCoy's wrist, "Don't make me do it, _please."_

"You've got to darlin', who knows what will happen if we don't take all the mess out," McCoy stood up and shooed Cessa from her chair, sitting and wheeling over until he and Jim were practically knee-to-knee.

Kirk sucked in another breath, feeling like his chest couldn't expand any longer, "I'll—I'll take the risk, don't make me, _please don't make me."_

Jim studied McCoy's face for any indication that he was going to give in, but as per usual, he was stubborn and unrelenting.

Knowing there was no escape from here, Jim clung onto McCoy's wrists tighter, his nails digging into the skin. His body was overcome with trembling, his skin cold and the world blurring together.

"Jim," he saw McCoy reach out to him, but it all seemed to be in slow motion. Fingers grasped at his jaw, forcing him to look at Bones. "You're overreacting. They've been serving on the ship here ever since we set out two years ago, with Pike, remember?"

Jim shook his head again, he didn't listen, he didn't _want_ to listen.

"I don't care, I don't want to be here! You don't fucking understand! You don't—you don't fucking understand! You don't fucking care! You just—you just want to look good…" Jim shivered and hiccupped as the reality of what he was saying sunk in—his fear of the situation translating into anger and threats.

Instead, the grip on Jim's jaw grew firmer until he could feel the fingers digging into the bone.

"Look at me."

"N-no…"

"Look at me."

"M-m-mno…"

"Look at me."

Frustrated, Jim glanced up stared at the blurry image of Bones.

"Breathe with me, okay?"

"Uh…uh-huh."

"Follow me, deep breath in, hold for five seconds, and out." McCoy demonstrated, and Jim tried to follow, but his body choked out a sob half way through, and he shook his head in denial.

"I can't-can't do it…"

"Yeah you can, breathe in, with me, c'mon Jim." Again, Jim tried to follow his demonstration. His body just didn't want to comply.

Kirk let out a muffled cry of distress, trying to shake Bones' fingers off of his jaw, but the older man was unyielding.

"Get the fuck off me!"

"Look at me, Jim."

"No! Fuck off!"

"Jim—stop—stop moving, look at me—look at me—look at me,"

"Fuck off!" Jim was beginning to attack him now, using his arms to hit and smack him away.

"Jim—hold still, dammit! Carter, let's try the nitrous."

"Yes sir."

It wasn't difficult to remember the last time he was bogged down with nitrous.

 _'Right, well I better get him off to sleep so I can get started.'_

Jim's frantic thrashing and kicking turned into a nightmare for Bones as the kid started kicking him in the stomach, nearly knocking him off the stool.

"Jim, dammit, sit still!" he yelled, deciding Kirk was too out of control now and began holding him against the chair.

"Let go of me, you fucking bastard!" Jim shrieked, hurling his head back against the chair in frustration at his futile efforts to escape from the doctor's clutches.

Carter suddenly wheeled beside him, with a nasal mask that looked extremely familiar. Too familiar.

 _'You excited, Jimmy?'_

 _'You smell that, Jim?'_

"Jim, I'm just gotta pop this over your—"

"NO!" he didn't want to be forced into tranquillity, vulnerable and free for the doctors to do with as they pleased. Images of himself strapped to the table while Reagan cut open his knee flooded his tortured mind.

Regardless, he saw the contraption hovering from above him, obviously they were trying different methods to get it on him as he was too powerful for them.

When Jim thrusted forward and backwards, whipping his head from side to side, he felt Bones' hands tighten around his torso, effectively pinning him against the chair.

He heard Carter from behind the chair, "Sweetheart you need to calm down, I just need you to wear this, that's all."

"No—" Jim coughed and struggled to get out of Bones grip, the hand holding the mask trying to shove it onto his nose but failing because of his rapid movements.

"Cessa, can you…?" was the last thing he heard before a pair of hands came out of nowhere, clamping either side of his head and holding it still. With his body pinned to the chair by Bones and his head pinned by Cessa, Carter finally succeeded in her sinful mission to shove the mask over Jim's nose.

"There you go, sweetheart," she cooed, much like Frank did, according to his ears.

"No…!" Jim started sobbing, he didn't want this. They were forcing it on him. It wasn't fair.

He heard Bones sigh from beside him, before once again a hand was released from his torso and began running through the strands of his hair.

"Breathe in through your nose, Jim," Bones coaxed him, his accent drawling southern as he knew it somehow helped to calm him down, "Just let it do its job, and let us do ours."

Jim gagged, his body catching up to his slowing breathing. As his strength left him, Jim let go of McCoy's arm, his hands dropping onto his lap as his breathing slowed to a normal rate.

Bones' other hand left his torso and gently captured Jim's hand, stroking it with his thumb and muttering reassurances.

"What's it smell like, Jim?" he heard Bones ask from the side of him.

Jim groaned, he didn't want to breathe it in, as it made him weaker. It was a villainous tool to weaken the doctors prey, and there was no way he was falling into that trap.

"How're you feeling, sweetheart?" Carter's voice appeared from the side of him this time.

"Mmm…" was all he could say through the thick fog clouding over his brain.

After a few more minutes of the gas flowing freely into Jim's nose and affecting his body, Jim couldn't help but feel like he wanted to go for a nap. Nurse Cessa had left, with McCoy having agreed to take over so that she could cover medbay while he was gone.

"What's it smell like, Jim?" Bones repeated, causing Jim's eyes to search him out. When he found the subject of the voice, he inhaled softly, shutting his eyes for a second. A half-smile formed on his lips when he tried to describe the smell of the gas.

"Mmm…strawberries…" he answered, noticing Bones quickly glance up to Carter, then begin to stand up.

As soon as McCoy left his side, Jim felt the chair vibrate as he was lowered down flat again.

"Strawberries, huh?" Bones humoured him, waiting for the chair to stop moving before wheeling behind him and nodding to someone Jim couldn't see.

"Yeah…" Jim soon found out who Bones was talking to when Carter reappeared by his side with the 'retractors' or whatever they were called, Jim couldn't remember.

His eyes were locked onto Bones as Carter pried open his mouth and started packing the retractor inside, for some reason Bones was interested and was looking down at him too.

When Jim remained still without a fuss, he felt a gentle squeeze on his arm.

"Good boy," Carter whispered, her eyes kind and reassuring. The edges of Jim's lip curved as he tried to smile. "Here's some sunglasses to make you look badass," she added, sliding them on top of the mask on his nose. It all seemed strangely familiar, as if he'd done all of this minutes ago.

Bones and Carter talked amongst themselves for a few minutes, but Jim couldn't care less.

"I'm not leaving him on his own again, it's not damn right."

"Well, I'm not gonna argue, he settles with you around."

Carter laughed, and Jim laughed too. Something was funny. Carter pulled her mask up.

Bones glanced over to him, a small smirk on his lips. Jim giggled again.

"Something funny, Jim?"

"Uh-huh!" he made a content noise at the back of his throat and smiled towards both the doctors.

"Good old nitrous," Carter chuckled, wheeling above Jim and taking out a contraption that was lying in a tray, very, very, very slowly…

Jim thought it was funny, so he started giggling again.

"Damn kid, let me in on the joke, huh?" McCoy smirked, wheeling up beside Carter and gently clasping the sides of Jim's face in his hands.

Carter approached with contraption which looked like a drill that had been miniaturized with a shrink ray. Jim's eyes glanced up to Bones as he felt himself start giggling again.

Then, there was a high pitch whirring in the air, and the fingers around his face inched, the thumbs stroking his cheeks in a rhythmic motion. It was nice, Jim liked the feeling of the fingers stroking his cheeks. He almost didn't notice when one of his teeth started vibrating.

"Good boy," he heard Carter remark over the shrill noise, "You're being really brave, aren't you?"

"Nurse, nitrous doesn't de-age someone to a child, damn it," Bones was scowling at her.

"It leaves him weak and childish, doctor. I do this for a living, speaking to them like this soothes nervous patients under nitrous."

He saw Bones shrug, "Well, I'm a surgeon, if they're anxious then I put them to sleep."

Jim was pretty sure he saw Carter smile under her mask, "Yep, and there's your problem right there."

The high-pitched sonic drilling went on for another twenty minutes, before McCoy hit her on the shoulder and told her to stop.

"What?" Carter looked pissed off for once, she hated being interrupted by other doctors thinking they knew better.

Bones pointing to one of Jim's back molars, "The coated layer was covering the tooth; there's a black mark over here, see?"

Carter frowned, leaning forward and analysing what it was. "Could just be a stain."

"Or, it's left over from a previous drilling done from last week that could have something to do with the mouth guard and was covered up with the coating."

"You want me to drill into the root of a perfectly healthy tooth because it _could_ have something to do with the mouth guard?"

"It's not perfectly healthy, dammit! Reagan—our prisoner, removed the enamel from every single tooth, there's not a healthy one left."

"Then perhaps the coating is simply there to replace the enamel and has nothing to do with the mouth guard at all."

Jim watched McCoy's frown lines crease so deep that his nose was beginning to crinkle, "I'm ordering you to investigate it."

"Fine, but if it's nothing, it's on your head."

When the drill started up again, Jim flinched and instinctively began clawing on the leather of the chair.

It was instantly turned off. "It's alright darlin', we just stopped to decide the next best course of action, and uh, we're carrying on now." Bones offered a sincere smile, and Jim's fingernails stopped digging into the leather.

"Kay."

So, the noise started up again, and this time Jim was able to stay relatively calm.

"There, look," Bones pointed towards the now exposed molar, "It's been surgically attached to the root of his molar and then covered up with sealant. No wonder we couldn't see it."

Carter huffed, shaking her head and reaching to the side out of Jim's sight. Bones took the time to make sure Jim was still okay.

"You doin' alright, kiddo?"

Jim blinked tiredly, "Uh-huh…"

"You in any pain?"

"Uh-uh…"

"Tired?"

"Uh-huh…"

"Well, we, or _I_ found out what the problem is, so we're just gonna fix it up and we'll be done, okay?"

Jim let out a slow sleepy breath, "Uh-huh…"

"We'll get you back in bed real soon, okay?" Bones continued to reassure him, "It should be easy to take out now we know where it is."

Jim wanted to say more than "uh-huh" in reply to that, but the retractors in his mouth were stopping him from speaking anything other than gibberish.

"Don't s'pose that you'll turn up to your physicals on time now that you know something much worse can happen," he jibed.

" _Hey!"_ Carter shouted from the side, "I'll have you know that my line of work is extremely important to me!"

Jim grinned and shook his head. If anything, he was even _less_ likely to turn up to physicals now.

"So important that you'll oversee other major operations because this doesn't satisfy you?" McCoy sneered.

Carter wheeled back towards them and jabbed McCoy in the side with tool.

"Shut up, I've got work to do, unlike you."

Jim watched Bones expression change from a playful jibe to apprehension when Carter stuck a tool in Jim's mouth, probably expecting him to lash out again.

Bones was never usually this upbeat and joking, especially with people he'd never spoke to in his life and just met. A niggling feeling at the back of Jim's mind told him it was all a show to keep him comforted. And he didn't really mind that, it was nice to see Bones smile for once.

"Okay…" Carter murmured, taking the drill in one hand and some weird tweezer tool in the other, "I should be able to dislodge it and take it out, this won't take a minute," she informed him.

The high-pitched whirring sound rung in the air again, Jim staring directly at Bones' face as a distraction from it. He had yelled at him and demanded that he left the room beforehand, but now he was deeply glad that he was there with him.

Kirk was nicely distracted, until he felt a tug and immense pain shooting from his tooth. He jolted and tried to push Carter away.

"Crap, sorry, the damn thing is close to a nerve, I'm not sure if I can…" there was a long pause, and a scrutinizing stare from Carter before she leaned back, "Shit."

Jim watched Bones sigh and try to take a look for himself, settling down again after realising it was an accident. "Here, yeah?"

"Yep, it's impossible to move it without touching the nerve."

"Nope, give those to me."

Carter stared at Bones astonished for a second, before making a "whatever" noise and passing her tools to him.

"What makes you think you can do it when you're not even a dentist?" she mused, both of them watching McCoy as he leaned over Jim and tried it for himself.

"I'm a surgeon…" he muttered, the sound ringing in the air again. It was beginning to upset Jim, he could feel it.

There was another tug, and small shooting pain that left as quickly as it came, then a sickening cracking noise as something was being torn. Every single one of his teeth felt like superglue was being removed from the surface, starting from the left hand side, over to the right. It felt disgusting.

"There you go, wasn't that hard," Bones dropped huge half-destroyed mess of lanky material on the tray beside him. "That looks much better."

Jim gazed up at him hopefully, uncaring of the contraption in his mouth prohibiting his speech "Ih eh un nuh?"

"Yeah Jim, it's all done now," McCoy breathed, placing the tools aside.

Carter gave him a nod of approval and quickly began removing the retractors from Jim's mouth.

"You did good, kid." Bones praised him, a hand resting on his shoulder. Jim licked his lips, finally able to close his jaw and nodded gleefully. "You want me to keep that mask on and put you to sleep, or I can put you on oxygen to wake you up a bit more, if you want?"

Jim blinked tiredly, the thought of sleeping suddenly appealing to him. He wasn't sure with how he'd react completely lucid without the nitrous being in the office, so he chose to sleep instead.

"Sleep" he croaked, his voice hoarse from being unused.

"Alright."

Jim didn't even remember falling asleep.

* * *

 _Medbay._

McCoy tapped through his PADD, checking Jim's allergy list for the millionth time, despite having it all memorised. He had Jim stocked up on a ton of drugs, he hadn't even come around from sedation yet.

It'd been two hours since the appointment, and Jim was recovering nicely.

Or so McCoy constantly tried to convince himself, having sat by his bedside since he was brought in here.

But he couldn't get himself to stand up and do something else. Every so often Chapel would approach him and ask if he wanted to swap; he always said no.

"Bones?"

McCoy's head shot up at the voice, turning to Jim and checking his vitals. Again.

"Hey Jim," he smiled kindly, "I'm here, you're fine. Are you in any pain?" his pain indicator was very low, but he thought he'd ask nonetheless, y'know, on the off chance it wasn't working.

"No…you got me on the good stuff, Bones?" Jim's eyes were fluttering, his eyes struggling to focus on him, it was obvious the kid was going to pass out from exhaustion again any minute.

"Yeah, you're on a high right now. When it wears off, it should be manageable," he gestured to the table, "Got you your hamburger too, like we promised."

Jim grinned, but quickly shut his eyes again. "…Sleepy…"

"That's fine, just sleep."

Jim offered a weak smile, "M'kay…"

McCoy waited until he thought Jim was asleep, before turning to his PADD again.

 _16 new messages from Spock.  
8 new messages from Nyota Uhura._

"Bones?"

 _'Dammit, Jim.'_

"Yeah, Jim?" he turned off the PADD and came to his side again.

"Is…is it all over now?"

Bones offered a smile, "It's all over, Jim."

Another pause as Jim's struggling mind tried to process it.

"Safe?"

"Yes Jim, you're safe."

And just like that, he was asleep again.

 _Damn right you're safe. Never gonna let you out of my god damn sight again you endearing piece of shit._

* * *

The End.

* * *

 **I have to leave it there, I'm really struggling now lol. I hope you enjoyed, and if you're bingereading this….then that's…a lot of reading.**

 **If you enjoy hurt!Kirk, then feel free to follow my username or whatever the deal is here, as my fanfictions are just a never-ending library of Kirk angst.**

 **Thanks for reading, guys!**


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